Three Hands in The Fountain

XXX

Petronius came over to fetch me the next morning. He looked like a man who had failed to supply himself with breakfast. Since I was the cook in our household, I was able to let him have some of our bread rolls, while Helena ate hers in silence. She had fetched them, running down barefoot that morning to buy them fresh from Cassius, then I had arranged them in a neat pattern in the bowl.

'You're in charge, I see, Falco.'

'Yes, I'm a stern Roman paternalist. I speak; my women veil their heads and scurry to obey.'

Petronius snorted, while Helena wiped honey from her lips fastidiously.

'What was all that fuss yesterday?' she asked him outright, to show how subservient she was.

'The old battering ram's terrified that I'll infiltrate too far and put the screw on the gangs again by acquiring inside knowledge. She thinks Milvia is daft enough to tell me anything I ask.'

'Whereas the rest of us know you don't go there to talk… Interesting situation,' I mulled, teasing him. Then I told Helena, 'Apparently Milvia is now chasing Lucius Petronius, while her formally ardent lover has actually been witnessed trying to dodge out of the way.'

'Oh? Why can that be?' Helena queried, subjecting him to a bright look.

'Frightened of her ma,' I grinned.

Petro scowled. 'Milvia has suddenly acquired some very peculiar notions.'

I raised an eyebrow. 'You mean she finally noticed you're no good?'

'No. She wants to leave Florius.' He had the grace to blush slightly.

'Oh dear!'

'And live with you?' asked Helena.

'And marry me!'

Helena took it more stalwartly than I did. 'Not a good idea?'

'Helena Justina, I am married to Arria Silvia.' Helena restrained herself from commenting on his bold claim. 'I concede,' Petro went on, 'Silvia may dispute that. It just shows how little Silvia knows about anything.'

Helena passed him the honey. I was expecting her to throw it at him. We kept our honey in a Celtic face-pot we had acquired when travelling through Gaul. Petro eyed it askance. Then he held it up, rudely comparing the round-eyed cartoon features with my own.

'So you were never serious about Milvia?' Helena grilled him.

'Not in that way. I'm sorry.'

'When men need to apologise, why can they only say it to the wrong person? And now she wants to be more important to you?'

'She thinks she is. She'll figure it out.'

'Poor Milvia,' murmured Helena.

Petronius made an attempt to look responsible. 'She's tougher than she looks. She's tougher even than she thinks she is.'

Helena was wearing an expression that said she thought Milvia might turn out to be tougher – and much more trouble – than Petro himself yet realised. 'I'll be going to see your wife today, Lucius Petronius. Maia's coming with me. I haven't seen the girls for ages, and I have some things for them that we brought from Spain. Are there any messages?'

'Tell Silvia I promised to take Petronilla to the Games. She's old enough now. If Silvia leaves her at her mother's tomorrow, I'll pick her up and return her there.'

'Her mother's? You're trying to avoid seeing Silvia?'

'I'm trying to avoid being battered and browbeaten. Anyway, if I go to the house, it upsets the cat.'

'This won't get you all back together again.'

'We'll sort it out,' snapped Petronius. Helena took a deep breath, then once again said nothing. 'All right,' he told her, capitulating. 'As Silvia would remark, that's what I always say.'

'Oh, I'll keep quiet then,' Helena returned, not unkindly. 'Why don't you two men talk about your work?'

There was no need. Things had taken off at last. Today we knew what we had to do, and what we hoped to learn.

Not long afterwards I kissed the baby, kissed Helena, burped, scratched myself, counted my small change and took a vow to earn more, combed my hair roughly, and set out with Petronius. We had avoided telling Frontinus our plans. In his place we had Nux. Helena would not be taking her visiting as our dog was deadly enemies with Petro's famous cat. I didn't mind in the least if Nux savaged the flea-ridden creature, but Petronius would turn nasty. Besides, Helena did not need a guard dog if she was with my sister Maia. Maia was more aggressive than anything they might meet on a short walk over the Aventine.

Petro and I were going the other way. We were off to Cyclops Street on the Caelian. We had to interview Asinia's friend.

Her name was Pia, but the scruffy building she lived in convinced us in advance that her lofty name would be inappropriate. Hard to tell how she had ever become friendly with anyone who gloried in Asinia's good reputation, though we had heard the relationship went back years. I was too old to worry about how girls chose their friends.

We climbed several flights of stinking stairs. A janitor with a goitre let us in, but he declined to come up with us. We passed dark doorways, barely lit by slits in the blackened walls. Dirt marked our tunics where we brushed against the render as we turned corners. Where shafts of light intruded, they were thick with motes of dust. Petronius coughed. The sound echoed hollowly, as if the building was deserted. Maybe some tycoon was hoping to drive out his remaining tenants so he could redevelop at a profit. While the place waited to be torn down, the air had filled with the dank smell of despair.

Pia was hoping for visitors. She looked even more interested when she saw that there were two of us. We let her know we weren't buying, and she relapsed into a less friendly mood.

She was lounging on a reading couch, though apparently not for mental improvement. There was nothing to read. I doubted if she could. I didn't ask. She had long hair in a strange shade of vermilion, which she probably called auburn. Her eyes were almost invisible amongst dark circles of charcoal and coloured lead. She looked flushed. It wasn't good health. She wore a short undertunic in yellow and a longer, flimsier outer one in a nasty burnt turquoise; the outer garment had holes in it, but she had not stopped wearing it. Gauzes don't come cheap. Every finger was horribly ringed, seven greenish chains choked her scrawny neck, she had bracelets, she had base metal charms on fragile ankle chains, she had jingling ornaments in her tresses. Pia overdid everything except taste.

Still, she could be a warm-hearted honest poppet for all that.

'We want to talk about Asinia.'

'Sod off the pair of you,' she said.