A Song For Nero

by Tom Holt

  'He's awake,' she said, and damned if I could place her accent, though usually I'm sharp as a razor when it comes to voices. She spoke Greek, but with a sort of snorty croak, like she had a bad cold.

  So there I was, lying on my back, admiring the view (or what I could see of it past the nose) and wishing my head didn't hurt so much, and of course Lucius Domitius has to come barging in and spoil it all. Next moment, instead of the cute girl I'm looking at his crow-scarer of a face, peering down at me like I was somebody's bad handwriting. At least he looked worried, which was something.

  'Are you all right?' he said.

  Bloody stupid question. 'No,' I said, 'my head hurts. Where are we? What happened?'

  'You're in a room in an inn,' he replied. 'A wall fell on you.

  'A what?'

  'A wall. A building collapsed, and you got hit on the head. Luckily it doesn't seem to have done you any harm. At least, I don't think it has—'

  'Excuse me,' someone I couldn't see interrupted, and I noticed he had the same accent as the nose girl. 'I have a small amount of expertise in these matters, perhaps if I could examine him.'

  Made it sound like I was a dodgy horse at an auction, the daft prick. Anyhow, Lucius Domitius got out of the way and there was this stranger looming over me.

  First thing I noticed — couldn't help noticing it, really — was that he had a nose just like the girl's, if anything, even bigger. He was dark, suntanned, about twenty-five; almost certainly the girl's brother.

  'Who's this?' I mumbled.

  'This is the very brave man who saved your life,' Lucius Domitius said, making it sound like I was an ungrateful sod for not knowing that. 'He and his brother went in and pulled you out of the ruins, just before a whole lot more of the building fell down. If they hadn't got you out, you'd have been crushed to death.'

  'Oh' I said, 'right. Um, thanks,' I added, since it always pays to be polite.

  The nose bloke smiled, very wide, masses and masses of glowing white teeth.

  'Think nothing of it,' he said, 'I'm sure you would've done the same for me.' He bent low over me and before I knew what he was up to he'd pushed back my right eyelid with his forefinger. 'Any dizziness?' he asked. 'Nausea?'

  'I've got you breathing up my nose. Does that count?'

  He laughed, as if I'd said something really funny 'He'll survive,' he said.

  'That head's going to be a bit sore for a day or so, but there's no real harm done.'

  Well, that was good to hear, assuming the bloke knew what he was talking about.

  'Are you a doctor?' I asked.

  'For my sins,' the bloke replied. 'Perhaps I'd better introduce myself. My name's Amyntas, this is my sister Myrrhine, and my brother, who's just gone to find the innkeeper, is Scamandrius. My brother and I are both doctors, with our own practice back home in Memphis , in upper Egypt.'

  Myrrhine, I thought, nice name. Actually it's not, it's a boring, droopy sort of name, and what I was really thinking was, it's the same as it is with clothes. A pretty girl can look good in anything, even a cabbage-sack with three holes cut in it, and any name can suit her, even rotten old Myrrhine. Also I was dying to ask, has your brother got an enormous nose too? But on balance I thought I'd better wait till he got back, and see for myself ' Memphis ,' said Lucius Domitius. 'You're a long way from home.'

  Amyntas smiled. 'Don't we know it,' he said. 'Everything here's so strange, so different. So big,' he added, with just the faintest hint of a shudder. 'But my brother and I, we've always wanted to see Rome , ever since we were little boys.

  And then my aunt died — she was the widow of a well-to-do freedman here in the city, we're the only family so we had to come over and see to her estate. And here we are.'

  Good God, I thought, cute and an heiress too, but that couldn't possibly be of any significance to me. Not even worth thinking about. Bash on the head or no bash on the head, I didn't have any problems with my memory, and I could remember that I was a small, skinny, middle-aged Greek, wanted on capital charges in a dozen provinces (but not Egypt), not a bent copper to my name apart from what'd been given me by some lunatic assassin after my blood, and with a face like a rat into the bargain.

  And then I had an idea.

  What can I say? It seemed like a good one, at the time.

  'Fine,' I said. Then I pointed at Lucius Domitius. 'And who's he?'

  Both of them stared at me like I was crazy 'Excuse me?' Amyntas said.

  'Him over there,' I said. 'The guy with the thick neck. Friend of yours?

  Personal slave?'

  'But—' Amyntas' eyes narrowed. They had a lot of scope for it. 'You don't recognise him.'

  'Never seen him before in my life,' I said.

  'Oh.' Amyntas nodded slowly 'Excuse me asking, but can you remember your name?'

  'Me?' I acted puzzled. 'Well, of course I — Well, no,' I went on, pretending I'd suddenly been struck all thoughtful. 'No, I can't.'

  'Ah!' Amyntas nodded twice, very quickly 'I know what's happened. It was the bump on the head. I'm sorry to tell you, you've lost your memory.

  'What?' I acted all panicky. 'But that's—'

  'It's all right.' Probably he was a good doctor, he had a nice, soothing manner.

  'In nine cases out of ten it's a purely temporary thing, only lasts a day or so, a month at the very most. Nearly all patients who lose their memories after cranial trauma make a full recovery.

  I looked at him. 'Nearly all?'

  'Ninety per cent, at least.'

  'You mean there's a one—in—ten chance I'm stuck like this?' I made a show of trying to sit up. Amyntas pushed me slowly back. 'That's terrible,' I said.

  'Give me some medicine, quick.'

  He smiled. 'I can give you a soothing draught he said. 'It'll calm you down, relax you. That's the best thing in your condition.'

  'Bugger being relaxed,' I said. 'I don't want to be relaxed, I want my memory back. You're a doctor, give me some medicine for that.'

  His smile was like taking a bath in warm oil. 'Honestly,' he said, 'the soothing draught is the best medicine. The loss of memory is mostly due to shock and anxiety. Calming you down and making you feel relaxed should deal with that, and you'll have your memory back in no time.'

  'You're sure about that?' Lucius Domitius interrupted. He sounded as frantic as I was pretending to be. That made me feel a bit guilty. I know, mostly he was panicking because, well, we were in enough shit as it was without me going all crazy, and besides, it was a safe bet that he'd told this Amyntas the tale, how we were itinerant sardine merchants from lower Pisidia or some bullshit like that. If I suddenly got my memory back and started gabbling about how I was a fugitive con artist and he was the emperor Nero, things could get a bit tense all round. Of course, I wasn't going to do anything of the kind, but he wasn't to know that.

  (And while I was at it, I thought: Why am I doing this, just out of interest?

  And the answer was, no getting past it, because I thought the only way I'd stand a chance with the girl was to hang around her for a while, her presumably being the nurse, she'd be by my bedside mopping my brow with a damp cloth and looking concerned, and then I could be really grateful and say how wonderfully good and compassionate she was, and that's exactly the sort of thing girls like, gets their juices flowing like nothing else. Completely crazy, the whole idea; doomed to failure, right from the start. Obviously I was acting just a little bit nuts.

  Probably because of the bang on my head.)

  Still, I'd started the caper now, so I couldn't back down. Also, it was going to be very ticklish telling Lucius Domitius, even if I managed to get him alone for long enough to explain, so on balance it'd probably be better if I didn't.

  Rough on him, of course, but that's what friends are for.

  'Here,' Lucius Domitius said, 'I'll tell him who he is, that might jog his memory. Might that work?' he asked.

  'Try it, by all means,' Amyntas replied.

  'Fine. Well,' said Luc
ius Domitius, not actually looking at me, your name is Euthydemus, you're my business partner, we deal in quality dried fish, and we live in Corinth . That's in Greece ,' he added, and I thought, you prat. I'm supposed to have lost my memory, not gone stupid. Besides, I couldn't help thinking, if I'd really lost my memory, feeding me all this bullshit just to back up the tale you've been telling could do me permanent damage. There I'd be, really believing I'm a prosperous dried fish merchant, and when my real memory started creeping back, telling me I was a failed bathhouse tickler and petty swindler, I'd start thinking I must be going off my rocker. And he didn't even have the excuse of wanting to get off with some big-nosed chick. Dear God, I said to myself, how bloody thoughtless can you get?

  But clearly I couldn't say anything there and then, so I just looked helpless and pathetic, and said, 'Oh, right,' or something of the sort. Amyntas peered at me down his nose and asked if that rang any bells, and I said no, not really, and he said, Well, early days yet, and now he thought I really ought to get some rest, and he took Lucius Domitius gently but firmly by the elbow and steered him out of the room.

  So there I was, me and the beaky but adorable Myrrhine. She sat on the edge of the bed looking at me for a while, like I was the saddest sight she'd ever seen, and then she said, 'How are you feeling now? Any better?'

  I thought, yes, right. 'A bit,' I said. 'But my head's still hurting.'

  'Of course,' she said, getting up. 'Really, I ought to leave you in peace, so you can get some sleep.'

  'No,' I said quickly 'I mean, um, it's all right, it's not that bad.'

  'Would it help if I bathed your forehead with a damp cloth, do you think?'

  You betcha, I thought, but I didn't put it quite like that. 'Yes, that'd be really nice,' I said, trying to sound nonchalantly brave, or some such shit.

  'Unless you've got other things you should be doing. I mean, I don't want to be a nuisance.'

  She smiled. Nice smile. 'Oh, it's no trouble,' she said. 'I'm used to this sort of thing, helping my brothers with the patients.' She picked up a bowl and a bit of rag off the table and started splodging my face. A bit like being kissed by a mackerel, but it's the thought that counts, as Plato said to Aristotle.

  'It must be interesting work, doctoring,' I said.

  'Oh, it is,' she replied, looking at me dead soulful. 'It's wonderful to see all those poor sick people getting better. Most of them, anyway My brothers are very good doctors, you couldn't be in better hands.'

  'I'm sure,' I replied, as a bit of water dribbled down off my eyebrow into my eye. 'I can see that. He's got a very good manner, your brother.'

  'Oh, he's famous for it, back home. People come from miles around.'

  'So,' I went on, 'how do you like Rome ? I expect it's quite different from what you're used to.'

  'Oh, it is. Everything's so big and bright and wonderful, it's like something out of a story. Though there's a lot of sad things too, all those poor people in the streets. I felt very sorry for them, sitting there with their little bowls begging for coppers.

  'It's tragic,' I agreed. 'But that's life for you.

  'Oh yes. Life can be very sad sometimes.'

  Well, great, I thought, we're getting along like a house on fire here. What with the being hunted like a wild animal by the law all the time and the never having any money or being able to stay in one place for more than five minutes, one way and another, I'd never had much time for chatting with girls, and the kind of girls I'd mostly found myself chatting to hadn't been like this at all — bar-maids, principally, and the sort of girls who hang round outside bathhouses.

  Not that I'm knocking them, they're absolutely fine as far as they go (all the way very quickly in my experience), but not the type you can sit and talk to meaningfully about important issues, like Myrrhine and I were doing. Besides, a bit of fun is a bit of fun, but there's more to life than that. I'd always wanted to kiss a girl without having to worry about whether her tongue in my mouth meant she was fishing about for my small change.

  'Still,' I went on, 'there's lots of nice things to see in Rome too. Have you been to the Circus yet?'

  She frowned. 'Yes,' she said, 'but I didn't like it much. All those poor gladiators and people getting eaten by lions. Actually, I think that sort of thing's rather horrid.'

  'Absolutely,' I said, 'I can't stand all that myself. Give me a good play any time.'

  'You like plays?' She clapped her little hands together, spraying me with water from the bit of rag. 'Oh, I love plays. We get them sometimes in Memphis , very occasionally when a touring company comes round. My favourites are the comedies.

  Which do you like best, Menander or Diphilus?'

  Never heard of either of them was the truth, but of course I wasn't going to say that. 'It depends what mood I'm in, really,' I replied (and you've got to admit, it's a damn good answer, especially for a man with a bad head). 'Sometimes I feel like a spot of Menander, sometimes only Diphilus will do, if you see what I mean. What about you?'

  'Oh, I'm the same,' she said, 'absolutely And the Latin writers too — I can read Latin, you know, my mother taught me. I just adore Plautus, though don't you think Terence is a better observer of human nature?'

  'Damn straight,' I said. 'Not much about human nature he didn't know.' Just then it occurred to me that I was supposed to have lost my memory. 'You know, I feel sure I must have gone to the theatre quite a lot, because all this stuff sounds very familiar. Maybe my memory's coming back.'

  Her eyes were shining. 'Oh, good,' she said, 'isn't that wonderful? Do you think it's because of us talking about plays? It'd be so splendid if that helped you remember, wouldn't it?'

  'Fantastic,' I said, 'let's keep going. So, what other plays do you like?'

  'Apart from comedies, you mean?' She frowned. 'To be honest, I don't really like tragedies much, they're all so sad and gloomy Do you like tragedies?'

  'Not really,' I replied. 'I always think there's enough unhappiness in the world without making up any more.

  'Oh, that's so true,' she said. 'I think that's why I like comedies, they're so bright and cheerful, and everything turns out all right in the end. Not like real life,' she added, with a sigh. 'How about poetry? Do you like it? I do.'

  'Very much,' I said, and for what it's worth, I was telling the truth. Some poetry, anyway There was this one my uncle used to do about Leda and the swan that always had us in fits. He had a filthy mind, my uncle. 'What sort of poems do you like?'

  'Oh, Theocritus and Anacreon and Alcaeus, Sappho of course, and Theognis, though some of his poems are a bit difficult for me, I'm not terribly bright, I know—'

  'I wouldn't say that,' I said. 'I think anybody who likes Menander and Theocritus must be pretty clever, don't you?'

  She blushed, right down to the tip of her nose. 'Oh, I don't know,' she said.

  'I'm sure I don't understand all the complicated bits. You should hear my brothers talking about poetry They can see all sorts of clever things that just go right over my head, I'm afraid. I just like the nice, cheerful bits, myself.'

  'Same here,' I said. 'After all, it's there to be enjoyed, poetry. It's not like you're taking a test or something. You don't get a crown of bay leaves or a medal if you figure out all the hard bits.'

  She laughed. 'Oh, you do say some funny things,' she said. 'It's almost as good as watching a comedy You must be very clever to be able to think of things like that.'

  'It's just a knack I've got,' I replied modestly 'I guess,' I added quickly since I wasn't supposed to be able to remember. 'I just say the first thing that comes into my head, really'

  You can see for yourself that things were going pretty bloody well, so it was a pity Lucius Domitius had to pick that moment to come barging in; also the brother, Amyntas, and another bloke I didn't recall having seen before. Not that it was hard to figure out who he was. One glimpse of the enormous thing jutting out of his face like the great mole in Ostia harbour was enough to tell me that this was the other bro
ther, Scamandrius. Just in case I was blind or stupid, though, Amyntas introduced him. I remembered my manners and thanked him politely for saving my life. He just grinned shyly Not the talkative kind, I guessed.

  'I'd just like Scamandrius to examine you,' Amyntas said. 'He's had rather more experience of these cases than I have.'

  So Scamandrius examined me, and asked me exactly the same questions his brother had (only he had one of those little tiny quiet voices that drive you spare after a while), and when he'd finished he nodded a couple of times and whispered something to Amyntas, who nodded back and said, 'Just as I thought.' Then he faced me and said, 'So, have we remembered anything yet?'

  Before I could say anything, the girl piped up 'Oh yes, we've been having such an interesting talk, all about theatre and poetry and things.'

  Now I don't know how they do things where you come from, but if your sister suddenly told you she'd been nattering away about poetry to some bloke you'd just dragged in off the street, I have an idea you'd maybe frown a bit and possibly get a little up tight. Certainly that's what'd happen where I was brought up. But apparently not in Egypt, or anyway Memphis, because both of them beamed and said, 'Splendid, splendid' (at least, I assume that's what Scamandrius said, because he was muttering again and I couldn't hear), and I began to think I'd probably like Egypt if I ever got to go there. 'But,' Amyntas went on, 'it is rather important for the patient to get plenty of rest, so I do think we ought to leave him alone for an hour or so. Come along, Myrrhine.' And they all shoved off.

  Well, I was sorry to see her go, when we'd been doing so well, but my head was still hurting like buggery, so I closed my eyes, and I was just starting to drift off (because I was having this dream where Myrrhine and I — well, never mind) when the door opened and Lucius Domitius came in. He waited for a moment, like he was listening out for something, then he shut the door quietly 'Listen,' he whispered.