The Spook Who Spoke Again

6

Even though they had known that the aedile was coming to watch them, the performers took a long time to sort themselves out. While we waited, Faustus said the demonstration was for the Roman Games, which take two weeks in September. They are the oldest, most famous Games in the calendar and this year it was his task to organise them. Of course he needed to do that well, to obtain a fine reputation afterwards. I thought it might be good to be an aedile myself one day, as I am sure I could organise people, though I might find it all a worry.

When Faustus reminded me what happens, I remembered going to the Ludi Romani with my parents on past occasions. There is a good procession of chariots, which then do races, and horsemen, and also drama. Thalia wanted to be in the theatrical events. She now showed Faustus her snake dance. I had never seen anything like it. From his face, neither had he. Thalia and Jason swayed together while the python wound himself around her in curious ways, though he was so heavy she could hardly support him slithering. I wondered how she had thought up this dance? And however she trained Jason to take part? asked Faustus, sharing my amazement.

Flutes were played at the same time. Other musicians then played tibias, drums and lyres to which acrobats tumbled, walked tightropes while twirling batons and parasols, and juggled with a large variety of things. First a few people at a time, then slowly everyone joined in.

Manlius Faustus sat still, watching. He showed no sign of whether he liked anything, just sometimes wrote notes on a waxed tablet. All the performers were watching him to see what he thought, but nobody could tell. His slave Dromo had brought along a whole bag of tablets for him; when I asked to borrow one, Faustus gave me one at once, making sure it was nice and waxy, and also a stylus like his own. I tried to see what he was writing but he used shorthand symbols that I didn’t know.

I wanted to make a list of all the performers but there were too many. They moved around so much I lost track of them, which was annoying. Sorting out my suspects would be hard.

I saw Pollia being thrown in the air and caught by two men, so one must be her husband, but which? They were called Laurus and Pedo. Pollia could stand on her hands and bend entirely backwards until she grabbed her own ankles. Then they picked her up and threw her between them again, while she remained in the form of a joined hoop. And they rolled her along.

Another very beautiful young lady called Silvia came skipping up to them, doing a cartwheel as she arrived, then she and Pollia were both tossed to and fro for a time, before they climbed onto the men, with a small woman called Sassia bounding up to jump on top as well until they made a pyramid of bodies. Then someone flipped some coloured balls up to Sassia, which she juggled, only dropping one; a golden crown was thrown up to her too, which she caught right on her head.

They all jumped down. They landed lightly, pointing their feet elegantly. This time, Faustus applauded, so I did too, assuming it was etiquette. I saw Thalia mutter something to Sassia, after which she came to us and put the crown on the aedile’s head with a fancy gesture. He allowed her to do it, though I thought it was really not correct to involve him like that. He politely wore the crown during the next act, then took it off again and placed it on the free seat on his other side from me.

We watched more performances. I had lost track of the people’s names. While we sat, I found myself thinking about Ferret. That saddened me. I wished I had him down my tunic now. He would have enjoyed looking out at the performances, twitching his whiskers. I could have talked to him about it.

When there was a pause while equipment was wheeled in for a balancing act, Faustus asked me quietly why I was feeling unhappy. He may have thought it was being with Thalia instead of at home. I hoped he would not tell my parents since I had no wish to cause trouble in their minds. So that he would understand, I decided to tell him what had happened to Ferret. He listened in the same way he had watched the acts, still not speaking. He seemed a thoughtful person. This is very unusual.

The next time we were waiting for something to happen, I asked whether, being a magistrate, Faustus could help me investigate. He replied rather regretfully that his remit didn’t really cover that, because apart from organising public festivals it was more about patrolling markets and bath houses. Rome has a lot of those. Some are disreputable. And brothels, I suggested, since I had heard my two younger sisters giggling over it when they were discussing our Albia’s new friend.

‘Unfortunately, yes; brothels,’ agreed Faustus in a solemn tone. Clearly he was a man of duty. I knew these were rare so I was pleased to have met one.

The next thing that happened was that a new group of people arrived. Thalia loudly greeted them. They were actors. Their leader was called Davos. Thalia had only announced the names of the other performers when it was their turn, but she brought Davos right over and introduced him. His troupe was here to show Faustus their acting in the hope he would accept them for a play at the Roman Games.

‘I’ve known this fellow for years,’ Thalia said in a glowing voice. ‘You will find him the best — and I’m not just saying that because he happens to be my husband!’

That made me jump. Davos was a solid man with straight grey hair. If he and Thalia were married, surely that made him my father? Another? This was rather complicated. I took a good look at him, finding him preferable to the animal-seller, Soterichus. But when he noticed me staring he gave me a strange look, not friendly.

In other respects, Davos seemed at ease. He tossed the golden crown at someone standing on the track, then sat himself down right alongside Faustus. He began explaining their play, a comedy which he said he had just dug out of their chest of scrolls in honour of my father, Falco that is, who once wrote it. He writes things but we try to avoid having them read out to us because we think they are terrible.

Faustus said that he was a new friend of Falco’s daughter, Flavia Albia, so he (Faustus) hoped he (Falco) would be pleased if his play was accepted for performance. ‘I’m being judged — Don’t get me into trouble here!’

‘He’s a mad bugger,’ answered Davos, as if this was a compliment. ‘Don’t worry. He’ll be thrilled we haven’t dumped his piece of nonsense on a midden-heap.’ That sounded as if disposing of the play might have been a possibility.

‘Make your pitch then.’ I noticed Faustus gave such orders in an easy way; he was comfortable with his importance and people seemed to take it well. I would like to be like that. He listened patiently while Davos confessed that the scrolls had become rather jumbled up since the last performance; in fact, he said with a chortle, to be honest The Spook Who Spoke (which was the play’s strange title) had always seemed jumbled even in performance. Mind you, that was in the Palmyra desert, which explained a lot. The night had ended in a riot, though he assured Faustus that had nothing to do with Falco’s play’s noble lines or vibrant theatricality. If Faustus liked the sound of it, the actors could unscramble the scrolls in a twinkle. Something could be made of it.

I wondered if we would see a riot here in Rome?

Davos began describing the play. He had a deep, powerful voice that was lovely to listen to, even though his conversation was crude. ‘You get the usual comedy banalities. Innocent, slightly dim adolescent is passionately in love with a gorgeous girl in a brothel — ’ I glanced at Faustus who smiled at me. ‘I can’t remember offhand whether loverboy’s dad is a soft touch or a scheming miser, but he’s lost at sea, until he turns up alive and well. The mother’s a harridan in a fright wig. Always gets laughs. A ghost pops up to put the mockers on everything, everyone pairs off and we have a sing-song with a folk dance to send the audience home in good spirits.’

‘Any extras?’ asked Faustus. He seemed to know what to ask. I wondered how you learn to be an aedile. Perhaps there was an instruction book.

‘As many as you can take. A young woman — well, she’s got five children and isn’t as young as she looks — plays the water organ. That usually follows on its own, because getting the organ on stage is a palaver. If Thalia’s still got her donkey who does tricks, we’ll write him in for extra light relief.’

‘The crowd generally likes “business”?’

‘Absolutely — if Ned’s dead, the lads can mess about with a rope. We once tried to use Jason as the rope — you know, he starts stiff, the rope wrestlers don’t notice what they’ve picked up, suddenly they get a big surprise that it’s a live snake, so they run off screaming while the audience hysterically wets itself — sadly, the scaly bugger was too unpredictable on stage.’

‘Hmm,’ commented Faustus, who now knew from me that Jason was a murderer of ferrets. ‘Is this python dangerous? I have a remit to deal with marauding wild animals.’

‘Oh Thalia has him under control. She loves the thing. Owned him for years without incident.’ Davos continued talking about the acts, in ignorance that the question was asked for my investigation. ‘Originally old Falco wrote in a pair of stand-up clowns who commentated — ’

‘Clever cook and boasting soldier?’ asked Faustus, raising an eyebrow. He looked tired.

‘Got it in two! You may be glad to hear we have Congrio, who is all the rage. Very big star. I’m lucky to employ him. You must have heard of Congrio.’

‘A barber, a fisherman and an intellectual went into a bar …?’ suggested Faustus.

Davos winced. ‘Hilarious, trust me. It’s the way he tells them.’

‘Hmm,’ said Faustus again, making a short note on his tablet.

‘Would you like to hear him do his set about the man from Kyme?’

‘Too Greek. Make it a place that people in Rome may have heard of, Davos.’

Davos waved up the comedian who was a thin ugly person with bandy legs, very sure of himself. After a huddled discussion, Congrio announced grumpily, ‘Ditch Kyme then. For you, legate, it shall be the man from Ostia.’

‘Thanks,’ answered Faustus instantly. ‘I come from there.’

‘Shit!’ muttered Davos. ‘Quick! Think up another town, Congrio, for god’s sake! Any damned town, so long as it’s not famous for libel lawyers …’

‘Ostia is fine,’ Faustus soothed him. ‘I was having you on. I grew up at Fidenae.’

‘Too many comedians here!’ Davos commented, pretending to be hard done by. I could see that insulting a magistrate didn’t really bother him. This was like Falco, so if Davos was my real father, I would know what to expect.

Davos saw me looking at him again, so gave me another suspicious frown. Faustus saw that. ‘Davos, this is Marcus Didius Falco’s adopted son.’

Davos groaned. ‘Oh, you’re Thalia’s unexpected little bundle, are you!’

He didn’t seem pleased. I told him in a stiff voice, ‘I am Marcus Didius Alexander Postumus.’

‘Very nice!’ Davos didn’t sound as if he believed that. He wasn’t interested in me either, and went off to organise a rehearsal of The Spook Who Spoke for the aedile.

I took the chance to ask Faustus an important question. If Davos and Thalia were married, did that mean Davos was my father? Faustus replied, not necessarily. Then he assumed a kindly expression, adding that Flavia Albia was bound to say, he was almost certainly not. My sister Albia is famous for her wise experience of life.

‘You mean, Albia will ask, was any handsome wine-seller passing by, ten months before my birth?’

‘That would be like her.’

‘I don’t know. I wasn’t here.’

‘And that,’ said Faustus, ‘sounds like the punchline of a joke about the man from Kyme.’

I said I hoped then that the man from Ostia would be funnier. He laughed easily.

The actors performed a scene, which I found dull. It had a lot of talking and nothing happened. Afterwards Faustus took me down to Thalia and Davos on the race track. He gave orders that the full script of the play they intended to perform must be sent to him tomorrow at the aediles’ office so he could try to get to grips with it. Then they would not be allowed to vary a word after he approved it. He said he liked the acrobats, but he had to view several companies, so would only confirm whether Thalia’s were chosen for the Games once he had seen the others.

He gave some money to his slave Dromo, a sneery, spotty young man, who I could see was jealous of me being on such friendly terms with his master. Faustus told Dromo to run to the sweetmeat-seller and buy me a cake.

‘Can I have one?’ demanded Dromo; he was like the cheeky slave in Falco’s play.

‘All right. Just one; no more, Dromo.’

I think Faustus intended me to go along with Dromo on the cake errand but I stayed behind. I didn’t like the look of Dromo and I was hoping to hear what his master said to Thalia if it was about me. It was. The magistrate stood with one hand on my shoulder like an uncle. He suggested that Thalia should consider how I was a boy with potential, but if at some point in the future it ever became known I had worked with entertainers that would be a certain career impediment. She knew the legal situation.

Thalia gave him a nasty look but said quietly she would bear it in mind. Dromo came back and gave me a cake he had bought with the aedile’s money. He tried to pass me the smallest, but I pointed out that I had seen what he was doing so he had better swap them over.

After they left, Thalia changed her attitude. She told me in private that maybe Faustus was right. If I wanted to be a big rissole one day, I had best stop mucking out the menagerie animals. I asked what kind of rissole I could be. Thalia said, sounding less cross than before, that since Didius Falco was an equestrian and Helena Justina’s family were senators, the menu was mine to choose. As a Roman, I could be any kind of exotic rissole I wanted, with whatever fancy gravy I liked on it and a side dish of radishes. And I was not to worry because Falco knew what he owed me so he would pay for it. With fish pickle on the radishes.

From what I knew of Falco, that seemed a rash claim. He often said to his children that we shouldn’t raise our hopes because he intended to spend everything and only leave us his good wishes and a pair of old boots.

Thalia did not know about me taking visitors’ money for the menagerie. I decided not mention that, because I was halving the new increase in the ticket price with her, in case I needed any petty cash for my enquiries into Ferret’s disappearance.