He took me indoors, as far as the atrium. The statue I had sent him from the Pertinax house now had pride of place. He thanked me as we both gazed at her, with a peacefulness that would have been unlikely if we had been surveying the real thing.
'I still wonder,' mused Camillus, 'if I should have ordered marble-'
'Bronze is best,' I said. I smiled at him, so he would know it was intended as a compliment to his daughter: 'More warmth!'
'Go and see her,' he urged. 'She won't talk, and she won't weep. See what you can do…'-
Her mother and a gaggle of maids were crowding the bedroom. So was a man who must be the doctor. My roses were by Helena's bed, my signet was on her thumb. She was busy ignoring good advice with a set, stubborn face.
I leaned in the doorway like a professional, looking mean and hard. She saw me at once. Helena had a strong face, which took its softness from whatever she was feeling. Whenever that sweet face lit with relief, simply at seeing me walk into a room alive, the mean, hard look became difficult to sustain.
I went on helping the doorframe to keep itself upright, trying to find the sort of tasteless ribaldry she would expect. She spotted the bandages.
'Trust you,' she said, 'to turn up looking bloodstained when there's someone else's doctor to give you a free salve!'
I shook my head slightly, to say I was just scratched. And her eyes answered that whatever I had done to her, she was glad I was here.
Most of my work has to be done alone, but it would be good to know that when a job was over, I could come home to someone who would scoff at me heartily if I showed any tendency to boast. Someone who would actually miss me if I failed to make it home.