It was a false alarm.

I sat with Helena, holding her hand, and we both said nothing. The pains which had frightened her seemed to be coming to nothing, but the next occasion could well be different. We were safe today, but seriously alarmed. We had run out of time.

A couple of hours passed. As we began to relax again, we pretended we were both sitting silent in the garden purely in order to enjoy each other's company.

Marcus, nothing is happening. You can leave me if you want."

I stayed where I was. "This could be my last chance for the next twenty years to enjoy an afternoon in the sun completely alone with you. Savor it, my love. Children make it their sole ambition to interrupt."

Helena sighed gently. The earlier excitement had left her subdued and shocked.

After a while she murmured, "Don't pretend to be dozing under the fig tree. You're planning things in your head."

I was in fact mentally packing bags, consulting maps, debating the virtues of sea against land travel—and trying to reconcile myself to absconding from Baetica with my task only half done. "You know what I think. There's no time to waste. I want to go home now."

"You think it's too late already! It's my fault," she shrugged. "It was my idea to come to Baetica." "Everything will be all right."

"You know how to lie!"

"And you know how to joke— It's time to leave. Good time, I hope. Anyway, I'm coming with you."

"You're wonderful!" Helena said. Sometimes she almost sounded as though she trusted me. "I love you, Didius Falco. One of the reasons is that you pursue a cause relentlessly."

"Well! And I thought it was because I had momentous brown eyes and a body you want to grab... So you really think I'm looking for a chance to bunk off after some villain and let you down."

"No," she retorted, with her old spirit. "I think you're lusting after a set-to with some half-naked female spy!"

"Oh discovery! No; let's be honest. You're bound to be annoyed to find I've ended up tangling with devious female agents—but you can count the peas in a pod. You know it's not my fault there seem to be women everywhere—but you think I'm spinning out the job in Hispania purely because I want an excuse to avoid being with you when you start producing the child. I'm famous for breaking promises. I know that."

"No," said Helena patiently. "You're famous for finishing what you start."

"Thanks! Now I've started on fatherhood— So we are going home?"

The fight seemed to go out of her. "I'll do what you decide, Marcus."

That settled it. If Helena Justina was being meek, the poor girl must be terrified. I took a manly decision: I was not up to reassuring a woman in the last stage of her pregnancy. I needed my mother; I needed Helena's mother too. We were going home.

 

Marius Optatus came riding back shortly, and I told him of my decision. He had the grace to look sad at losing us. Immediately afterwards a carriage appeared, bearing Aelia Annaea and young Claudia. There were some sturdy outriders who made themselves at home in our kitchen; Licinius Rufius must have heeded my advice about protecting the girl.

"Marius told us Helena might be having the baby. We said we were coming to help—"

"Just a twinge," said Helena. "I'm sorry to be such trouble—"

They looked disappointed. My feelings were more mixed. I wished it was all over, though I was dreading the event. Helena's eyes met mine, full of tolerance. The requirement to be sociable with our visitors would be good for both of us. But our afternoon together had brought us very close. Those moments of deep, private affection stayed with us as powerfully as if we had spent the time making love in bed. In fact our mood may have communicated itself, for both Marius and Aelia Annaea looked at us rather quizzically.

Since the others had just come from a funeral they needed space to settle their own emotions. They had the customary mixture of anticlimax and revival. The dead young man had been sent to his ancestors; the living could pursue daily routines again. They were tired after the ceremony, but the immediate pressure of grief had been eased, even for Claudia.

Helena ordered mint tea. That's always good for covering any awkwardness. No one has time for anything but finding space to put the strainer and making sure they don't slurp from their beaker or drop crumbs from their almond cake.

I was still sitting close to Helena; Claudia was placed at my other hand so she could tell me whatever she had come about. Marius Optatus seated himself with Aelia, all set to pretend to admire the lily tubs if anything too scandalous was being discussed.

We progressed through the necessary ritual. I apologized for rushing off. Fuss was made of Helena. There was a swift review of the funeral, including the size of the turnout, the quantity of the garlands, the affecting style of the eulogy, and the comfort of knowing that the departed was in peace. I thought Constans had left behind a little too much unfinished business for that, but in the hope that his sister might be intending to right some of it, I was prepared to extend some charity to the lad.

Claudia reached the point where she felt she could talk to me. She squirmed. She blushed. I tried to look encouraging. "Marcus Didius, I have something to tell you," she finally blurted out. "I have to confess that I have not been telling the truth!"

 

I was leaning forwards, trying to look happy drinking from a dainty terracotta bowl. I stirred my mint tea with a tiny bronze spoon, flipping out a leaf onto the ground.

"Claudia Rufina, since I became an informer I have talked to many people who have told me one thing—only to realize they should have been saying something else." Sometimes, in wild moments I longed for a witness who would break the pattern and surprise me by croaking—under pressure of conscience or perhaps my own fingers squeezing their neck a little too tightly— that they were sorry to cause me extra work but they had mistakenly given me accurate answers. No doubt adding that it was quite unlike them, a moment of sheer madness, and they didn't know what came over them...

"You are not the first person who ever changed their mind," said Helena softly.

The girl was still hesitating. "It is better to have the truth in the end," I stated pontifically, "than never to learn it at all."

"Thank you, Marcus Didius."

There was no point being cruel to her. I could have said, sometimes truth that emerges so late in the day is too late to help. But I'm not that kind of dog.

"This is very difficult."

"Don't worry. Take your time."

"My grandfather has forbidden me to talk about it."

"Then we won't mention this conversation to him."

"Constans told me something—though he made me promise never to reveal it to anyone."

"You must believe it's important, or you wouldn't be here now."

"It's horrible."

"I thought it might be. Let me help you: has it to do with some violent events in Rome?"

"You know!" I needed her to tell me. Finally she forced herself to come out with it: "When my brother was in Rome he was involved in killing somebody."

That was more than I expected. All the others were keeping silent and still. I too handled the situation as calmly as possible. "My dear, you cannot change what Constans did. It's best to tell me exactly what you know. What I most need to hear is who else was involved? And what exactly happened?"

"It was to do with the plan to regulate olive oil." Regulate was a nice new word.

"Did your brother give you details of the plan?"

"Tiberius and his father were in charge. My grandfather and some other people had gone to Rome to discuss it, though they all decided not to become involved."

"Yes, I know that. So be assured your grandfather is safe; he retains his position as an honorable citizen. Now I want to talk about what happened in Rome, Claudia. Your brother was there; he was of course a very close friend of the younger Quinctius? Quadratus was older; they were like patron and client. I already know that your brother, at the request of Quadratus, had arranged a special dancer to appear at a dinner where the olive oil plan was being discussed."