Helena Justina reckoned Falco's Satire I.I ('Let me tell you, Lucius, a hundred reasons why I hate this parrot...') was the best work I had ever done. Just my luck.
Chapter LIV
I make it a rule never to go to the funerals of people I have killed myself. But it seemed fair to make an exception for someone I had killed by accident.
Helena was still sleeping on the reading couch in the other room, on the poor excuse that she would not disturb my convalescing frame. Something would have to be done about that. I was already enjoying myself, planning schemes for changing things.
I got up quietly on my own. The day before I had dressed and mooched about the house to test my strength, but there was a subtle difference now I knew I was going outside. For the first time since I was hurt I made my own morning drink; watered the sleepy parrot; and looked about like a proprietor again (noticed that the crack in the wall seemed to be growing steadily). I took a beaker in to Helena. Hiding her anxiety, she pretended to be half asleep though an inch of warm cheek emerged from the coverlet to be kissed goodbye.
'Take care ...'
'And you.'
On legs which felt like cotton floss I walked downstairs, then I noticed a carrier staring at my bruises so I walked all the way back to find a hat. In case Helena had heard me and was frightened, I popped in to reassure her it was me.
She had gone.
Puzzled, I turned back into the corridor. The apartment was silent; even the parrot had hunched up and gone back to sleep.
I pushed aside the curtain to my bedroom. Her beaker of hot honey now stood among my own pillowside litter of pens, coins and combs; Helena was in my bed. As soon as I left she must have scampered out and curled up here, where I had been.
Her brown eyes stared at me like some defiant dog, left alone, which had jumped up on its master's couch the moment he left the house.
She did not move. I waved the hat in explanation, hesitated, then crossed the room to kiss her goodbye again. I found the same cheek-then as I moved away she followed; her arms came round my neck, and our lips met. My stomach tensed. Then a brief moment of questioning dissolved into certainty: this was the old, sure welcome only Helena could give-the girl I so badly wanted, saying that she wanted me ...
I made myself stop. 'Work!' I groaned. No one would hold up the cook's funeral if I stayed to play.
Helena smiled, still hanging round my neck as I feebly tried to free myself while my hands began to travel over and round her more deliberately. Those eyes of hers were so full of love and promise I was ready to forget everything. 'Work, Marcus ...' she echoed. I kissed her again.
'I think it's time,' I murmured, against Helena's mouth, 'I started coming home for lunch like a good Roman householder...'
Helena kissed me.
'Stay there!' I said. 'Don't stir-stay there and wait for me!'
Chapter LV
This time as I reached ground level some contractor's men were unloading their tools from a hand-drawn cart. A helpful sign. If the landlord was bringing in the finishing trades at last, maybe we should soon have new tenants too. Make the place less like living in a mausoleum. And some time -though probably not today! - I might persuade those fellows to stuff some hair and plaster in our crack.
I felt good. Even though I was going to someone else's funeral, my life was cheering up.
It was the Kalends of September. In Rome, still hot well into the evening, though in the northern parts of the Empire - Britain, for instance, where I had served in the army and later met Helena-there would be a damp chill now in the mornings and the long winter dark would already be making its approach felt on the late afternoons. Even here, time had taken a new turn round the spindle. I felt like a stranger. I had that uneasy mood which besets the emerging invalid, as if the city had lived through centuries in the few days I was confined to my sickroom.
I had come out too soon. The air felt troublesome on my fragile skin. The bustle disconcerted me. Noise and colour shouted alarm signals to my brain. But the first real shock of my working day was that when my hired donkey blundered up the slope of the Pincian, the stall where Minnius used to sell his cakes had gone.
There was nothing left. The stall, the awning, the delectable produce had all vanished. Even the oven had been dismantled. Someone had completely levelled the cake-man's pitch.
Within the extensive Hortensius grounds, smoke from a portable altar led me to the scene of the funeral. Members of the household were still winding out in convoy from the mansion; I stood back while they assembled in a space among the pine trees. Viridovix would be in famous company. Pincian Hill boasts the Emperor Nero's surprisingly tasteful monument.
There were no shocks at the funeral. Revelations at the bierside are a cheap device employed by epic poets. I was a satirist now, so I knew better than to expect surprises; we satirists are realists.
In my Greek brimmed hat, and the black cloak I wear on these occasions, I tiptoed discreetly among the mourners. I may not have passed entirely unnoticed, since the normal rule at funerals is that half the people present spend most of their time peering about for family celebrities; the keen-eyed, looking for long-lost half-brothers to complain about, would have worked out that I was an unknown quantity who might be good for a few hours of speculative gossip later on.
Crepito, Felix, and their two wives made a cursory appearance as their loyal servant was bundled into the Underworld with the minimum of fuss. The sweet oils were pleasant though not overpowering. A plaque had been commissioned; it would be set in the high boundary wall. I noticed it had been purchased and dedicated not by the masters of the house, but by his fellow slaves.
Once the Hortensii had paid their brief respects while the fire was lit, they went about their business; probably racing off to the slave market to acquire a new cook.
I pushed back the hat and made myself known to Hyacinthus, who was standing with the household chamberlain.. As the flames burned up, we talked.
'Falco! You still look ready to step up on the pyre there with him!'
'After four days on nothing but grape jelly in milk, don't sneeze, or you'll blow me over. I was hoping to cheer myself up with some tipsy cake-what happened to Minnius?'
'Some trouble about his lease for the stall. Felix cancelled it and kicked him out.'
'So where has Minnius gone?'
'Who knows?'
Now the owners had departed I could sense undercurrents of bad feeling here among the slaves. The cook's death had caused rumours, however much the Hortensii convinced themselves it had been hushed up.
'It hasn't helped,' grumbled Hyacinthus, 'that they buried Novus in high old style - whereas poor old Viridovix had to wait around at the embalmers for the best part of a week, and now his send-off is as brisk as possible. He was a slave-but so were they once!'
'So much,' I said, 'for the concept of family!'
Hyacinthus introduced the chamberlain, an uneasy type with pointed ears who had been glancing at me curiously. 'Hello! I'm Falco. Viridovix and I shared a drink and some good conversation the night he died, that's why I'm here. Do you mind if I ask you something?' He looked shy, but let me proceed. 'I was talking to Viridovix about that dinner party; he told me how smoothly it passed off-' Without a remit from the family I had to be quick and careful. 'Do you know what happened after the diners settled down in private?'
The chamberlain had remained within call after the servants were shooed out. He was classy enough to know he ought to keep things confidential, and human enough to want to spill his tale. 'There was a bust-up,' he let out.
'What was the problem?'
He laughed. 'The problem was Novus!'
'What-he let the rest of the party know there would be no joint stock confederation as they hoped?'
'That's right. He refused to play; they could all put their knucklebones back in the drawstring bag...'
So that was it; I sucked air through my teeth. 'When Novus stomped off afterwards, leaving Felix and Crepito with Priscillus, did those three get their heads together? Wasn't it hugs all round on the doorstep when Priscillus left?'
'If you ask me -' he lowered his voice '-Crepito and Felix have been hooked up with Priscillus for a long time.'
'Unknown to Novus,' I commented. Then I realised. 'No ... no, that's wrong-of course! Novus had found out!'