Helena Justina was not one to hanker for leisure pursuits when we had an investigation. She had shared my work ever since I met her, five or six years ago. She was as stubborn as me, hating to be thwarted when the evidence ran out, or when new clues seemed to prove our theories wrong. She claimed she was happy to spend all day searching for the Seven Sights party.
But I was not stupid. A man who has chosen to live with a woman he considers both beautiful and talented does not take that woman to Athens, the birthplace of civilisation, and fail to entrance her with a day on the Acropolis. Helena had been brought up within grasp of the world's literature in Rome's public libraries; her father owned his own collection, so many of the best works had existed in copies in her own home. Given that her brothers had both inclined to be slackers in the intellectual arena, it was Helena who had drawn out every last scrap of knowledge from the home tutors the senator provided for the two boys. I read for pleasure, intermittently; Helena Justina devoured the written word like a heron downing fish. Put her in a pond of information, and she would stand there until she had cleared it. We could have screaming children torturing the dog while a skillet boiled over, but if Helena was stuck in a scroll she was enjoying, she missed everything else. This was not wilful. She went into a space of her own, where she heard nothing of her real surroundings.
I took her to explore. I was a romantic lover; I did not take the others. I gave time and pretty well my full attention to this duty. For Helena it would be a lasting great experience. We looked at the ancient city, saw the agora, theatres, and odeons, then we climbed up the Acropolis slowly together, taking the main processional route past the Temple of Athena Nike and by way of the steep steps under the Propylaia, the towering ceremonial gate. There we had a fracas when we cold-shouldered the buzzing site guides.
'We guides can give you much useful information!'
'Guides give us a headache! Too late; we've already been punished at Olympia and Delphi – so just shove off.'
The day had begun overcast, but the sun had now burned away the clouds and was beating down. Up here, however, a breeze blew pleasantly, so in the wonderful Athenian light we could admire the sights and the views without discomfort. Once free of the guides, I let Helena wander at will around the Parthenon and all the other temples, statues, and altars, while I carried her parasol, water gourd, and stole. I listened attentively when she described the monuments. We marvelled at the Phidias Athena and the work of legendary Greek architects. We cringed at the Roman monuments imposed by Augustus' henchman Marcus Agrippa – a crudely positioned statue of himself and a Temple of Rome and Augustus. These were insulting and embarrassing. Greece might be conquered, but what other empire would despoil the Athens Acropolis?
I kissed Helena beside the caryatid porch of the Erechtheion. Informers are not complete worms. I enjoyed the day too.
I, however, was keeping my eye out all the time in case we ran into the Seven Sights group. They never appeared.
Late that afternoon, Helena and I returned to the others, happy but somewhat weary, then we braced ourselves to transfer our luggage to an inn. We did this by hand, that is, on foot. Since we had brought ample gear with us in the first place, and had added the Corinthian pots Helena had bought for Pa's business, it was a long, heavy job. At one point, I nearly broke my arm lifting a kitbag that belonged to Gaius.
The boys were hopeless at looking after their luggage, so the pack was familiar. I had had to rescue it several times. I knew it had not been this heavy originally. Normally I preferred not to investigate the nephews' personal possessions. I was sixteen once. The thought of the unwashed laundry was deterrent enough. This time, Gaius' guilty face made me tip out his collected treasures.
His bag was full of tiny bronze and pottery figures: miniature gods and animals. According to Gaius, he 'found' these.
'Don't lie to me. I'm not your dopey father. Found them where, Gaius?'
'Oh… just at Olympia.'
Thundering Zeus! These trophies of my nephew's were centuries-old votive gifts. Gaius admitted he had dug them all out of the twenty-foot-high mound of ash that formed the great, cumulative Altar of Zeus at Olympia. How he did it unseen was a mystery. I took a deep breath. Then I shovelled the offerings back into his luggage, and told Gaius that when he was arrested for defiling a religious site, I would deny knowing him.
He looked scared. Cornelius squirmed nervously. I warned them both that when I had more time I would conduct a full scrutiny of their luggage. A look that passed between them suggested there was more loot.
We carried on settling into our inn, which Helena Justina had rightly identified on her pictograph map as a four-tower effort: spacious enough to be an imperial post station, well equipped with stabling, baths, gardens, and eating facilities. While we were in the agora that morning, Helena had taken me to see her father's Greek banker. Julia Justa was now paying for our accommodation. Believing that a senator's wife would herself only stay in a really good lodging house, we were letting her provide us with a similar standard of comfort.
After dinner, Aulus joined us there, much earlier than we expected, which was good. His mother would like me to protect him from the night-life.
'All getting too strenuous, lad?'
'I told Minas I had to leave the party early because of my purse-lipped brother-in-law and my spoilsport sister.'
'Thanks, you dog! So, between mighty quaffs, what does Minas have to say?'
Minas of Karystos had never been approached by the Seven Sights group – though now he had heard of their many trials, he said he would be delighted to help them with compensation claims against the travel company.
'Students' fees must not be paying enough,' I muttered.
'He's bored,' said Aulus.
'Well this is not some party game!'
'Settle down, Falco.'
'Your sister can tell me that. Don't you try it!'
Minas had thrown himself into trying to find the group. Aulus was confident that, provided they were still in the Athens area, it would happen. Minas knew everyone, having cadged dinners and so-called symposia out of most people who had a dining room or a courtyard that lay close to a good wine cellar. From tonight's perfumed banquet couch, Minas would put the word out; some acquaintance would have seen our people.
Helena sat down beside her brother, taking his hand.'I am glad you are having such a good time here, Aulus.'
Aulus, a true brother, freed his hand as soon as possible. 'Are you teasing?'
Helena assumed her worried big sister face. 'You have been sent to this fantastic finishing-school to acquire two years' intellectual polish. But you don't have to stay here, if you don't like it.'
'Rome has its own jurisprudence teachers,' I agreed. If we ever suggested that Aulus was a shy flower who found the pace too hot in Athens, I reckoned he would feel obliged to stick it out. I was right too.
'This is a great environment,' replied Aulus rather stiffly. 'I feel completely at home and I am learning a lot.'
Well, we tried.
Gaius and his treasure trove of stolen religious offerings had unnerved me. I decided to supervise our younger companions more closely. I left Helena and Aulus munching hazelnut cakes he had brought back from tonight's party, while I tiptoed off to spy on the troublemakers.
In this way, I overheard a touching scene.
Young Glaucus had returned with Aulus. Freed from his duties as minder, he was now secreted in one of the cool, vine-scented courtyards with which this high-class inn abounded. I noticed him seated on a stone bench, talking to Albia. Normally he did no talking, so that pulled me up.
Albia was merely listening. That was another shock. She was by nature an interventionist.
I could see her sitting rather upright in her favourite blue dress, with her hands folded around a late rose one of them must have plucked. I guessed who had presented her with the flower. In his position, I would have tackled Albia with a packet of raisin pastry half-moons, but
Glaucus was just a big lump of bone and muscle; he knew nothing about women and their weaknesses. I had been Cupid's personal representative on the Aventine once; years later it was still my job to understand women, especially the tricky ones. He should have spoken to me first.
Glaucus made his oration: a resume of his long-term plans to remain in Greece and travel to the whole series of the Panathenaic Games. One day, he hoped to return to Rome triumphantly as an Olympic champion. According to him, with the right support package and personal dedication, this was feasible. His father, my trainer, would put up the money and perhaps even come out to supervise his son's programme. Young Glaucus was now asking Albia to stay here too, as his soulmate. Share his life, rub him with oil, encourage him.
Albia would make her own choice. I would have groaned in private and slunk off – but I could see Gaius and Cornelius hiding together behind an old cracked amphora containing a young fig tree. So far, Gaius had mastered the art of the silent guffaw, but that could not be relied upon. I stayed, ready to intervene.
Glaucus talked for far too long. He had clearly never done this before. I was amazed he could sustain such a long monologue. It remained one-sided, for Albia merely tucked her chin in, and listened with her dark head on one side. Planning his life was the young man's passion. Once he was cantering through the details, he couldn't bear to stop. If you liked sport, it was not too boring. If you hated sport, it was dire.
Finally Glaucus produced his master stroke. From a fold in his tunic he drew a small moving object. In the light of an oil lamp which hung from a pillar close by them, he showed Albia an owl he had captured in the courtyard. Beautifully feathered – but extremely annoyed – this was his solemn love-gift. Albia, a sensible girl, refused to take it and be pecked.
Glaucus then summed up his curriculum vitae again. The owl struggled between his enormous dark hands. Albia must be wanting to escape too. Gaius and Cornelius were wetting themselves with mirth, the rascals. I was preparing myself to stride across the courtyard and grab the boys by the necks of their tunics if their mockery exploded.
No need for that. Albia jumped to her feet briskly.
'That was very interesting. I will consider when I have time!' I winced. Young women are so brutal. Helena must have been giving her advice on how to keep men guessing. Albia pointed at the little owl. 'So. Now Glaucus, your owl is very sweet but you had better let him go quickly. This is the symbol of Pallas Athena. But I have been told the Greeks are superstitious if an owl comes indoors. They nail it to the front door by the wings – alive!'
Albia skipped off. After a moment, the disconsolate Glaucus opened his palms and released the owl, which flew up to a roof furiously, feathers dishevelled. The boys scarpered. I slid unobtrusively towards an exit.
Only then did I see Aulus outlined in a dark doorway. If he saw me, he gave no sign of it, but quietly vanished.
LVII
Next day Helena and I made attempts to find the Seven Sights group in the agora. I was starting to think they must be sailing around the nearby islands, buying overpriced sponges at Aegina or fake vases with Trojan heroes from desultory potters on Hydria. Maybe Phineus and Polystratus had already whisked them off to Rhodes and all cultural points east.
That afternoon, once more we left the others and spent time together. This time we went a little way out of Athens, where the noisy crowds were bothering us. We hired a frisky two-wheel trap and saw the countryside. Eventually we came to Mount Hymettus, which despite clouds of dust from a marble quarry was famous for its honey. Inevitably it was girdled with honey-selling stalls. Helena did her duty and equipped us with many souvenirs: pots that looked like beehives and contained Hymettus honeycombs. Both our mothers would be delighted with these, or so we convinced ourselves in our desperation to find them presents.
We had brought Nux. Usually Albia was happy to take care of her, but Albia had seemed sulky today. I thought I had better explain that to Helena. 'We may be about to lose Albia.'
'To Young Glaucus? I don't think so,' said Helena. 'She says he will wear out his body with sport and die at twenty-seven.'
'That's rather precise! So is she yearning for somebody else?'
'She is not ready.' Helena was holding back. She shared her thoughts on most subjects with me, but could be secretive on matters of the heart.
'Not ready to yearn in general, or not ready to jump on someone in particular?'
'I am sure she has nobody in mind.'
'You mean, she hasn't finalised her scheme to get him yet?'
'Falco, you are so devious!'
Me?
Not devious enough to fix up what I wanted, anyway. This afternoon idyll might have led to romance for Helena and me, but Nux put a stop to it. Ever tried even kissing your wife with a jealous dog watching? Don't bother. This was one foreign trip from which we would not be returning home expecting our next child after a hilltop conception. If we were ever to be respectable parents of three and win our extra social privileges, we would need to make better arrangements.
There were more hills whose scenery, since we had no option, we doggedly admired. On our way back to town, we reached Mount Lykabettus, a steep little crag which dominates the north-east of the city. We had seen it from the Parthenon; it must have excellent views right across to the sea.
'The Lyceum.' Helena's sightseeing notes were becoming terse. 'Aristotle.'
Even she was growing jaded now; this time she stayed with the cart, while I took Nux for a constitutional. The dog walked to heel rather quietly as we went uphill, as if whatever happened on the Corinth acropolis with Cleonymus had permanently subdued her.
It was another fine day, though I had sensibly brought my hat. Even so, I was glad when Nux and I turned a bend in the road and came upon a small thatched hut. A local was sitting cross-legged outside, perched on a small platform; it looked like a low seat that had lost its back. She too wore a hat, a high-pointed straw thing of quaint design, as if she had woven it inexpertly herself. Beside her stood a large water jar; passing travellers could stop here to buy a cold drink.
My heart took a leap. Unexpectedly I had found a witness. I must have finally caught up with the crone Gaius and Cornelius had met selling Peirene spring water on the way to Acrocorinth.
I approached quietly. Nux sat down and scratched herself. She always knew how to impose a casual tone on gatherings. A drink was poured for me in a decent sized beaker; I dropped coppers into the outstretched hand. Only then did the crone – as I assumed she would be – look up from under her eccentric hat to thank me. Now I had a second shock. No crone this; she was merely middle-aged and vague. It was Philomela.
'We meet again!'
'You do love cliches, Falco.'
I drank my water, savouring it thoughtfully. Nux was licking at the spout on the big water jar, so I poured more for her. The dog decided that if a drink was permitted, she did not want it.
'Silly girl, Nux! For some reason, I am now thinking longingly of my children; they are terrors too… Time to travel home, I think.'
'Then there is something I should say,' announced Philomela. 'I want to entrust a message to you, Falco. I want you to explain something to somebody in Rome.'
'Who? What? Something that happened where?'
'Olympia.'
Gaius and Cornelius had said their water-seller told them she had worked on the Hill of Cronus. Whatever Philomela was finally going to tell me, I knew it would be important.
I squatted on my haunches and surveyed her. Philomela remained silent as if she wanted to extract maximum suspense. She only achieved aggravation. I tried to spur her on. 'I hope this is about what befell either Valeria Ventidia or Marcella Caesia. I suppose your trade makes you likely to have seen Caesia?'
'My trade!' She laughed briefly. 'I live humbly, as you see -' she gestured behind her, to the hut, which was tiny and no doubt extremely crude inside. I preferred not to know. I hate country cabins; they smell of smoke and chicken-shit. 'I sell wat
er to earn a pittance, simply to survive.'
'No family to assist you?'
'Relatives by marriage. They are unaware that I have returned to Greece. They believe I am travelling in another province. That suits me. I wanted to lose myself -'
I could not bring myself to indulge her romantic attitude. 'People who 'lose' themselves are either failures or frauds with guilty secrets.'
'You are a sad man.'
'I am an informer. I was a merry gadfly once, but informing makes you brutal. Philomela, tell me the truth. Were you in Olympia when Marcella Caesia went up the Hill of Cronus and then disappeared?'
'I was.'
'Were you actually on the Hill of Cronus that day?'
'Yes; I was there.'
'You saw her go up? Was anybody with her?'
'Two people went up the hill together.'
'One was a man?'
'No. One was Marcella Caesia; the other was a woman, Falco.'
That gave me pause.
'Do you know what happened to Caesia?'
'I do.'
At this dramatic moment we were interrupted. A familiar voice hailed me. Helena must have tethered the pony and followed me up the hill after all. Nux ran to greet her. 'So you do have a wife!' commented the so-called Philomela.
'I said so.' I made introductions. 'Helena Justina, daughter of the noble Decimus Camillus Verus, gracious wife to me; Helena, this is a lady from Tusculum who now calls herself Philomela.'
Helena regarded the wide-eyed wonder. I had warned her previously that I thought Philomela was not all there. 'I believe I know who you are,' Helena asserted cheerfully.
Philomela lifted off the peculiar straw hat as if unveiling her true personality. Helena herself tidied her fine hair back behind her ears, pulling out a bone pin which she replaced with an unconscious gesture. They were like two friends settling down to mint tea at an all-women afternoon gathering.
'Tell me, are you Marcella Naevia?'
'Your wife is extraordinary, Falco!' warbled Marcella Caesia's aunt.
Caesius Secundus had assured us this woman was travelling in Egypt. All the time, she was loitering in Greece, under an assumed name.
See Delphi And Die mdf-17 Page 28
