I sat on a stool among racks of locked scroll boxes while the slave disappeared to check. Don't ask me how I know that the boxes were locked.

When he came back his manner was even more pedantic, as if he had been told I was trouble. He unlocked a silver box and removed a document. I was not allowed to crane over his shoulder, but I could see the script. It was a perfect, neutral cursive hand that could not have changed since he first learned to copy by rote.

He read out five names: "Annaeus Maximus, Licinius Rufius, Rufius Constans, Norbanus, Cyzacus." Then he corrected himself: "No; Rufius Constans was not at the dinner. He is the grandson of Licinius. He had gone to the theater, I understand, with my master's son." That almost sounded as if he were reciting something somebody had drummed into him. "How old are these two lads?"

"Quinctius Quadratus is twenty-five. The Baetican boy looks younger." Hardly adolescents then. The younger Quinctius would have just been elected to the Senate if he was to be a provincial quaestor as his father had boasted.

"Is the senator a stern father? Was he annoyed by them bunking off to a play?"

"Not at all. He encourages their friendship, and their independence. They are both promising young men."

I grinned. "That fine phrase can mean they are promising to cause trouble!" The secretary gazed at me coldly. He had never been trained to gossip. I felt like a slug spotted taking a stroll across a particularly elegant dish of dressed salad. "The Baetican visitors make an interesting list. We have an Annaeus—presumably from the same Corduban family as the famous Seneca's?" I had picked that up from Laeta at the dinner. "And who else? A couple of men from the provincial merchant class? What can you tell me?"

"I cannot give personal information!" he cried.

"I don't need to know who slept with a flute girl or the state of their impetigo! Why were they welcome guests of a Roman senator?"

Looking distasteful the slave squeezed out: "My master is a very important figure in Baetica. The first of those I mentioned, Annaeus and Licinius, are large landholders in Corduba." Those would be the favored pair who had been dining either side of Attractus at the dinner. "The last two are businessmen from further south, involved with transportation, I believe."

"Norbanus and Cyzacus?" The two who kept their heads down, conversing among themselves. Lower-class—perhaps even ex-slaves. "They are shippers?"

"So I understand," agreed the secretary, as if I was making him swear an oath to undertake physical torments and huge financial expense on behalf of an extremely bad-tempered god.

"Thank you," I answered heavily.

"Is that all?"

"I need to interview these men. Are they staying here?"

"No."

"Can you give me the address of their lodging in Rome?"

"They were staying here," admitted the cautious Greek reluctantly. "All of them left Rome very early today."

I raised an eyebrow gently. "Really? How long had they been with you?"

"Just a few days." The secretary made an effort not to look uncomfortable.

"How many is a few?"

"About a week."

"Only a week? Wasn't their decision rather sudden?"

"I could not say." I would have to ask the house steward if I wanted precise details of the Baeticans' original booking—but private informers are not given access to the domestic staff in a senator's house.

"Is it possible to interview the senator's son?"

"Quinctius Quadratus left for Corduba as well."

"Was that planned?"

"Of course. He is taking up his new provincial post."

I could not fault the newly fledged quaestor—but how many provincials, especially men of status, would make a long sea trip to Rome then skip for home almost immediately, without fully enjoying the sights, exploring the possibilities for social advancement, and making sure they stayed away long enough to make those at home believe they had conquered Roman society?

As tourists their behavior was highly suspicious. They might as well have left behind a wall plaque telling me these gadfly Corduban businessmen were up to no good.

THIRTEEN

 

That night I took Helena to the refined Capena Gate district to dine at the large, slightly faded villa which had been her family home. It was time her mother had another chance to rage at her about the poor arrangements we were making for the baby's birth and upbringing. (Julia Justa had a well-rehearsed script on this subject.) And I wanted to see her father. I like to keep my senators in sets.

As usual, before my official meeting I made sure that Helena's papa and I had conspired so our stories would match. I found Decimus Camillus Verus at the baths we both frequented. He was a tall, stooping figure with thinning, spiked hair, who already looked hunted even before I invited myself to dinner and explained that I now required him to play the heavy father to one of his rebellious sons.

"This is imperial business. I need to interview Aelianus. I'm telling you in advance so you can make sure he'll be there!"

"You overestimate my paternal authority, Marcus."

"You're a Stoic!" I grinned and explained the situation. Then I gave Camillus a stiff bout of swordplay to make him feel even more despondent, and we parted friends.

His attitude to me, whom many in his place would have loathed, was open and amiable: "I have no objection to you providing me with grandchildren, Marcus. A new generation is my one hope of getting someone on my side!"

"Oh I'm with you, senator!" In fact we both knew his relationship with me (like mine with his daughter) was the main reason the illustrious Camillus had a hard time at home.

 

Neither of the young Camillus brothers, Aelianus and Justinus, were at dinner. They were bright fellows in their early twenties brought up to have moderate habits—so naturally they were out on the town. As a sober citizen of thirty-three, approaching the grave honor of Roman fatherhood, I tried not to look as if I wished I were out there with them.

"Is Justinus still keen on the theater?" Their youngest rascal had taken up leering after actresses.

"They both like to keep me worried!" Camillus senior reported dryly. He kept his troubles close to his chest. "Aelianus has promised to return in an hour." Immediately I noticed his wife working out that he and I must have discussed this subject previously.

"At least he knows where his home is!" Julia Justa had a tart version of Helena's sarcasm. She was a handsome, hard-done-by woman, like her daughter, with fierce intelligence and liquid brown eyes. Maybe Helena would end up like this. Helena herself stabbed at her bowl of shrimp dumplings, looking morose. She knew what was coming.

Her mother took a deep breath, in a way that was familiar to me. I had a mother too. The views of these two women from distinctly different backgrounds were tragically similar, especially in regard to me. "You look as if you are about to rush away with acute diarrhea, Marcus Didius," smiled the noble Julia through thin lips. She understood men. Well, she was married to one, and had produced two more.

"I wouldn't dream of insulting the wonderful banquet before us!" It was a workaday spread, in fact, for the Camilli were struggling against the dire financial troubles that afflict hereditary millionaires. Still, flattery seemed wise.

"Someone has to ensure that my daughter is fed." A certain kind of woman always goes for the self-righteous in insults.

"Cobnuts!" Helena contributed. It was perhaps injudicious to use a phrase she had clearly picked up from me. "With donkey bells on them!" she added—an embellishment of her own. "I don't believe I know that expression, Helena."

"The nuts are mine," I admitted. "I take no credit for the bells." To Helena I said, "If word's going around that I starve you, I'll have to buy you a pork rissole on the way home and insist that you eat it in public."