Pertinax could be anywhere in Rome but the next day was Thursday, and Thursday marked his champion's run in the Circus Maximus; I knew where to find him then-somewhere among the two hundred thousand spectators who would be cheering Ferox on: Easy!
Famia, who liked to enjoy an occasion by making himself sick with excitement from the crack of dawn, tried to drag me out early, but if I spent all morning in the full glare of the stadium, I would be useless for anything. Once you have seen one opening procession winding into the arena, you can miss a few. What's another presiding magistrate with a smug expression leading the parade in his four-horse quadriga, when there are men to catch who murder priests, batter fathers of young families, and cut off the lives of unborn children before their parents have even had a chance to quarrel over what their names might be?
When I left my sister Maia's house, I took a detour by way of Galla's where luckily I found Larius.
'Excuse me, young sir, I want a hack artist!'
'Be quick then,' he grinned. 'We all have to go to the Circus to cheer a certain horse…'
'Spare me the honour! Look, do me a thumbnail sketch-'
'You modelling for a grotesque medallion on a Celtic drinking pot?'
'Not me.' I told him who. Then I told him why. Larius drew the portrait without another word.
The loss of the unborn is a private grief. To lighten the atmosphere I ragged him not to waste his money gambling on my horse. 'Don't worry,' agreed Larius frankly. 'We'll cheer yours-but the cash is on Ferox today!'
I walked to the Capena Gate. No one in the Camillus family was receiving visitors. I sent in my respects, with the distinct feeling the door porter would not deliver them.
I noticed a flowershop, so purchased a huge bunch of roses at an equally imposing cost.
'They came from Paestum!' wheezed the florist, excusing it.
'They would do!' I cried.
I sent in the roses for Helena. I knew very well that she would rather have had a flower I grew on my balcony, since she was a sentimentalist, but her mother looked like a woman who would appreciate the cost of a grand bouquet.
Helena must have been awake now but I was still refused admission. I left, with nothing but the memory of her white face yesterday.