XXXIX

AGAIN, I decided against lunch at the Clivus Publicius popina. Apart from not wanting to give Passus the idea that I dallied at food stalls – where Petronius and the rest were bound to have told him informers flocked like summer pests – I could now see two of the scriptorium authors leaning on the bar. Had it been the playwright or the love poet, Urbanus or Constrictus, I would have gone down there and joined them but it was the gangling Scrutator spouting at the flashily dressed Turius. Not in the mood for either, I went the other way, up towards the crest of the Aventine and home. There I invited Helena out for an early lunch at a more local eatery.

`Falco, you have a shifty look about you!'

'Certainly not.'

`What have you been doing?'

`Talking to Passus about literature.'

`Lying dog,' she said.

Even when I gave her the scrolls to read, she still looked suspicious for some reason. She leaned over and sniffed my shoulder; my heart pounded a little. I dragged her out to eat before the interrogation became too drastic.

Flora's Caupona was always quiet, though not normally as tense as we found it today. A couple of self-effacing regulars were sitting up straight at the inside table obediently waiting for their order. Apollonius, the waiter, walked forward to welcome us. He was a retired teacher – in fact, he had taught me at school. We never mentioned that. With his usual dignity, he ignored the peculiar atmosphere, as if he had not noticed it.

`We have lentils or chickpeas today, Falco.'

`Jupiter, you're taking the pulse regulations seriously.' Most other food stalls had probably just disguised their pots of fish and meat by leaving them off the chalked-up menu.

`Or perhaps something cold?' he enquired.

`Something cold!' Helena gasped. It was so hot outside, we could hardly move two yards without sweat drenching us. `Junia, just because the edict says you can only serve pulses hot, doesn't mean you are forced to provide steaming porridges even in August!'

My sister clasped her hands upon the spotless pot-counter. (Not her effort; Apollonius took a strange pride in his demeaning work.) `We can make you a salad specially – seeing as you are family,' she condescended primly.

Her son was playing with a model ox-cart where a second table had once stood. We put Julia down with Marcus Baebius and they soon started screaming at each other noisily. I waited for the customers to leave because of the racket. They stuck it out like a bunch of stubborn thick-ribbed limpets that had been excrescences on a harbour groin for twenty years.

Helena and I took a bench outside, the only remaining seat. Junia had made Apollonius prepare the salad, so she came out to patronise us.

`How are you two getting on? When is that cradle going to be occupied again?' Helena stiffened. From now on, she would go to enormous lengths to keep her pregnancy from Junia. `And how is that wonderful new house of yours?'

`Are you trying to make us weep?' Helena demanded, freely acknowledging that the house purchase her purchase – was a bad mistake. `Apart from the fact we are lumbered with the worst building-contractors in Rome – recommended by your father I have now realised it is far too distant from the city for Marcus to do his work properly.'

`Father is talking about selling up,' suggested Junia. `Why don't you do a swap with him?'

Neither of us answered her, though we both had difficulty withholding our delight at the idea of Pa having to deal with Gloccus and Cotta. Even if this had been the best solution possible – and if there was any chance Pa would agree to do it – we would still not have allowed Junia the triumph of suggesting it.

`I'll mention your interest to Pa,' she said bossily. `By the way, did you know Maia has persuaded him to let her work at the warehouse?'

`Goodness,' murmured Helena. `Whoever would have thought of that?'

`She won't stick it out,' Junia decided.

`Wait and see,' I replied, trying to remain calm. `I'll remind you of that statement in ten years' time, Junia, when Maia has become a top-notch antiques expert and the Favonius auction house leads the profession under her shrewd guidance.'

`What a joker,' said Junia. Silently, I willed Mercury the god of commerce to make Flora's Caupona go broke.

Apollonius brought our food then, so Junia broke off to mention little errors he had made in seasoning the salad, and to suggest clever ways he could serve it more elegantly next time. He thanked her gravely. I caught his eye, then had to shove spring onions into my mouth quickly to cover up my grin.

`Jupiter, sister – this is a one-snatch food-bar, not a palace dining room.'

`Try not to talk with your mouth so full, Marcus. And don't tell me how to do my job.' After two weeks, she was the expert. Helena kicked me, as a signal not to upset myself arguing. Junia reassumed her regal position, leaning on the inside counter. She could not resist a final dig. `You want to have a sharp word with Mother – about that man Anacrites.'

This time I crammed a large piece of sorrel into my mouth to annoy her deliberately, before answering: `Ma knows what I think.'

Junia tossed her head angrily. `She cannot know what other people are saying.'

`I don't know myself. What are you talking about?' `Oh, don't play the innocent.'

I had a bad feeling. I tried not replying.

`Well, for one thing,' Junia enjoyed telling me, `he has persuaded Mother to give him all her savings to invest.'

`Shush! Don't discuss our family affairs so publicly.' For once, I was happy our children were making such a racket.

This was a shock. I had been unaware Ma had any savings with which she wanted to speculate. At my side, Helena moved slightly, almost as if she had expected something else to be said. Whatever she thought, she was noticeably keeping quiet. Now she reached over me to where Apollonius had set down the breadbasket and took a roll. Then she involved herself in breaking it into very neat pieces, which she slowly ate. Flora's Caupona had always specialised in very doughy rolls. What looked like seeds on the top, usually turned out to be grit.

After chewing and swallowing my sorrel leaf to give myself reaction time, I pointed out to Junia that if Ma had been pinching back a few coppers every week from her housekeeping, it could hardly amount to much. She had brought up seven children unaided, then even after we left home she let herself be drawn into helping out the most feckless and hopeless of her offspring. Our elder brother Festus set the standard for sponging before he was killed in the East. I looked after his daughter financially, but various grandchildren were being shod, fed, and in some cases pushed through basic schooling by their devoted grandmother. She had two brothers (three if you counted the one who had sensibly run away); from them she cadged country vegetables, but otherwise our family offered few possibilities to recoup her generosity. Pa gave her a small annuity. I had always paid her rent.

Junia came outside again and whispered a huge figure that she thought our mother's nest egg might amount to. I whistled. `How did she collect that together?'

Still, Ma always was tenacious. She bailed me out of prison once; I knew she could call on spare cash somewhere. I imagined she hid it in her mattress the way old women are supposed to do to help burglars find it easily.

`What has Anacrites done with this money, Junia?' Helena asked, looking concerned.

'He put it in some bank he uses.'

`What – the Golden Horse? The Aurelius Chrysippus outfit?' I was now horrified. I did not care where Anacrites shoved his cash, but enough questions hung over the Golden Horse to make anybody else now shun the place. `Has Anacrites told Ma that the proprietor, was recently found dead in suspicious circumstances – and that there is a suggestion of devious practice?'