LXXXII

'Is she attractive?' Tullia forced herself to ask me as we hurried down into the dark little street.

'Money always is.' Pausing to check for observers, I asked nonchalantly, 'What was his attraction-good in bed?'

Tullia laughed derisively. I took a deep, happy breath.

Safely in the gloom of the wineshop, I grasped the girl by her shoulders. 'If you decide to ask him about this, make damn sure you have your mother with you!' Tullia was staring at the ground stubbornly. She probably knew already that he could be violent. 'Listen, he'll tell you he has a reason for that document-'

Abruptly she looked up. 'Getting the money he talks about?'

'Princess, all Barnabas can ever get now is a freedman's grave.' She might not believe me, but at least she was listening. 'He will tell you he was married to this woman once, and needs her help to acquire a large legacy. Don't fool yourself; if he ever gets the legacy, there's no future for you!' The barmaid's eyes took on an angry glint. 'Tullia, he already has an Imperial posse tailing him-and he's rapidly running out of time.'

'Why, Falco?'

'Because according to the Encouragement of Matrimony laws, a woman who stays single more than eighteen months after divorce cannot receive legacies! If he wants to inherit anything using his ex-wife, he'll have to move fast.'

'So when were they divorced?' Tullia demanded.

'No idea. Your friend with his eyes on the cash was the husband; better ask him!'

Having laid my bait, I nodded farewell and pushed through the brawny clientele to the outer door. Outside, two customers had come across my abandoned flagon and promptly tucked in. I was all set to express my indignation when I noticed who they were. At the same moment the two freebooters, who were Anacrites' watchdogs, recognized me.

I backed indoors, gestured expressively to Tullia, then barged through the crush and opened the door she had used to let me out when I had been there before.

Ten seconds later the spies burst indoors after me. They stared round wildly, then spotted the open door. The paviours parted tolerantly to let them run over there, then closed once more into an impenetrable pack.

I hopped up from behind the counter, waved at Tullia, and skipped out the front way: the oldest dodge in the world.

I made sure I disappeared by a route that would avoid spy number three if he was back in the main street.

•

When I tramped across the river again it was too late to do any more. The first rush of delivery carts was already petering out; the streets were busy with wagons of wine barrels, marble blocks and fish-pickle jars, but the initial frenzy that always occurs after curfew had passed. Rome was becoming more watchful as late-night diners braved the dark byways to go home, accompanied by yawning torchbearers. An occasional solitary walker sneaked through the shadows, trying to avoid attention in case robbers or deviants were breathing nearby. Where there had been lanterns hung on loggias they were now flickering out-or being doused deliberately by housebreakers who wanted a dark run home later with their swag.

It seemed probable that my own apartment was being watched by the Chief Spy, so I went to my sister Maia's house. She was a better provider than any of the others, and better tempered with me. Even so it was a mistake. Maia greeted me with the news that Famia would be really glad to see me, because he had brought home to dinner the jockey he had persuaded to ride my horse in Thursday's race.

'We had calf's brain custard; there's some left, if you're interested,' Maia informed me. More offal! Maia had known me long enough to know what I thought about that. 'Oh for heaven's sake, Marcus, you're worse than the children! Cheer up and enjoy yourself for once…'

I threw myself into it with all the jollity of Prometheus, chained to his rock on the mountainside, watching for the daily raven to fly in and peck his liver out.

The jockey was of previously unblemished character, but that didn't mean much. He was a tick. And he thought I was his new sheep. But I was used to brushing off parasites; the jockey was in for a surprise.

I forget what his name was. I made a point of forgetting. All I do remember is that he and that wastrel Famia expected me to pay far too much for the runt's pitiful services, and that considering I was giving him a chance to ride his heart out in the city's premier stadium, with Titus Caesar in the president's box, it ought to have been the jockey who paid me. He had a mean size, and a seamed, truculent face; he drank too much, and from the way he kept looking at my sister, he expected the women to drop at his feet.

Maia ignored him. One thing I could say about my youngest sister was that unlike most women having made one ghastly mistake in life at least she stuck with it. Once she married Famia, she never felt the necessity to complicate her problems by having crass affairs.

Fairly early on in the process of allowing the jockey to drink Famia and me out of pocket I disgraced myself. I had been sent to fetch a wine flask, but I slipped off to see the children. They were supposed to be in bed, but I found them playing chariots. Maia was bringing up her children to be surprisingly good-natured; they could see I had reached the flushed and niggly stage, so they lured me into the game for a while and one told me a story until I nodded off, then they all tiptoed out leaving me fast asleep. I swear I heard Maia's eldest daughter whisper, 'He's settled! Doesn't he look sweet…' She was eight. A sarcastic age.

•

I had originally intended to hole up at Maia's until any spies had gone home to their own sleazy burrows, then slide back to the Falco residence. I should have done it. I shall never know whether anything would have been different if I did. But there must be a chance that if I had gone to my own apartment that night instead of bedding down at my sister's, it would have saved a life.

August.

Sultry nights and steamy tempers. A few hours later I was awake again, too hot and too wretched to relax. A bad time of year for men with troubled spirits and women who were enduring difficult pregnancies. I thought about Helena, making my heartache worse as I wondered whether she too was lying sleepless in this sticky heat, and if so, whether she was thinking of me.

Next morning I woke late. Maia kept a peaceful house.

Tossing all night in my clothes never bothered me. But I had taken against the washed-out tunic I'd put on yesterday. I became obsessed with the hope of changing this dull rag for a livelier shade of grey.

Since I could not risk colliding with Anacrites' scabs at my apartment, I persuaded my sister to go there instead.

'Just call in at the laundry. Don't go up; I don't want them to follow you home. But Lenia's bound to have some clothes of mine to collect-'

'Give me the money to settle your account then,' ordered Maia, who had a good understanding of the customer relations Lenia enjoyed with me.