I was really stuck now. When Helena's feelings were getting the better of her she had more light and character in her face than many women with famous looks. My heart started running at a harder pace, and showed no sign of steadying.
'This trespasser claims you will vouch for him,' Marcellus suggested, sounding as if he doubted it.
'Oh, she will, sir!'
Her dark brown eyes raked me with contempt. I grinned happily, ready to roll over at her feet like a ticklish dog pleading for more.
As a prize for a senator's daughter I was not at my best. For selling the lead with Larius I wore a workman's one-sleeved red tunic and around my waist a deeply creased dirty leather pouch where I kept Vespasian's letter to Crispus plus my lunch; today Silvia had sent us out with apples, which at groin level produced an intriguing effect. Whenever I moved a folding metal rule and set square tied on my belt clanked together stupidly. My torso was displaying broad red tracts of recent sunburn, and I could not remember when I had last had a shave.
'His name is Marcus Didius Falco.' She pronounced it like a wronged widow denouncing a thief: a widow who was well able to stand up for herself. 'He'll spin you more fables than the Sybil of Cumae; don't employ him unless you have to, and don't trust him if you do!'
No one I had ever known was so rude to me; I beamed at her helplessly, drinking it in. The Consul laughed indulgently.
Marcellus was attempting to reach a long chair, the sort used by invalids. Slaves had followed us in-ten or twelve flat-footed country cream clots, all looking so respectful it made me ill-and as he began struggling the circle tightened formation; but it was Helena who moved to him. She pulled the chair nearer, then held it firm, allowing him to sink onto it in his own time.
A man could look forward to growing old with Helena Justina in charge: plenty of scope to enjoy writing your memoirs while she made you eat sensibly and kept the household quiet for your afternoon nap… Refusing to look at me, she rescued the wine flask and carried it outside.
'Wonderful creature!' I croaked at the old man. He smiled complacently. A cheeky half-naked artisan could only admire their strong-willed lady from afar; it was understood that her life and mine would never touch.
'We think so.' He seemed pleased to hear her praised. 'I have known Helena Justina since she was a child. It was a famous day for this family when she married my son-'
Since she had divorced Pertinax, who was dead now anyway, I found difficulty answering. Fortunately she returned (all dancing crimson ribbons, and the sweet sharp spice of some highly priced fragrance from the Malabar Coast…)
'So the villain is called Falco!' the Consul declared. 'An informer-is he good at his job?'
'Very,' she said.
Then, for an instant, our eyes met.