That nightmare journey all across Rome took another hour.
I planned the best route I could round the southern side of the Palatine, though it meant clambering through the grounds of Nero's Golden House. The Golden House was in limbo-too extravagant for the Flavians-so I found a whole convention of surveyors crowding the lake area trying to decide what our respectable new Emperor should do with it. Vespasian himself had a grand idea that this prime site should be returned to the people, the Flavians' gift to Rome for all posterity… So here were the designers, about to wish on us a fifteen-year construction site for their new city amphitheatre. The last thing I wanted as I struggled to reach the Camillus house was having my way impeded by a swarm of dreary architects in peculiar-coloured tunics, planning yet another forgettable Imperial monument. It strikes me the happy Roman mortar mixer who developed the use of concrete has a lot to answer for.
At last I reached the peace of the Capena Gate. As usual, the door porter refused to let me in.
I argued; he shrugged. He looked like a king and I felt like a lout. He stood inside; I stayed out on the step.
By then I was so hot after my gallop, and so anxious, that I grabbled the young pervert by the front of his tunic, then flung him against the doorpost and banged my way in. Falco: ever ready with the subtle touch.
'If you know what's good for you, sonny, you'll learn to recognize the friends of the house!'
A sharp female voice demanded what the commotion was. I was whisked into a reception room, face to face with the noble Julia Justa, the Senator's highly irritated wife.
'I apologize for breaking in,' I said tersely. 'There seems no other way I can pay my respects-'
Helena Justina's mother and I had failed to strike up a friendship. What I found most unnerving (since, to put it bluntly, her mother did not like me) was that where Helena had inherited expressions and intonations from her father, her looks came from her mother's side. It was always odd to see the same intelligent eyes as hers viewing me so differently.
I noticed that Julia Justa, who was a well-dressed, well-mannered woman, with a face that had benefited from the best oils and cosmetics a millionaire's wife could buy, looked pale and strained today She also appeared to have some problem deciding what to say to me.
'If,' began Helena's mother slowly, 'you are visiting my daughter-'
'Look-I heard something that disturbed me; is Helena all right?'
'Not entirely.' We were both standing. The room seemed incredibly stuffy; I was finding it hard to breathe. 'Helena has lost the child she was expecting,' her mother said. Then she regarded me with a pinched expression, uncertain what to expect from me-yet certain it would be something she did not like.
It was quite unacceptable to turn my back on the wife of a senator in her own home, but I took a swift interest in a dolphin statuette that served as a lamp. I never like other people seeing my emotions until I have inspected them for myself.
The dolphin was a slick little clown, but my silence was worrying him. I returned my formal attention to the Senator's wife.
'So, Didius Falco! What have you to say about this?'
'More than you think.' My voice sounded tinny, as if I had spoken into a metal vase. 'I'll say it to Helena. May I see her?'
'Not at present.'
She wanted me out of the house. Good manners and a bad conscience both dictated a speedy departure. I never had much truck with good manners: I decided not to shift.
'Julia Justa, will you tell Helena I am here?'
'I cannot, Falco-the doctor has given her a strong sleeping draught.'
I said in that case I had no wish to inconvenience anyone, but unless Julia Justa vividly objected I would wait.
Her mother agreed. She could probably see that if they put me out of doors I would only cause speculation among their noble neighbours by lurking out in the street like a seedy creditor.