Two For The Lions (15 page)

XXVII

HELENA JUSTINA PLACED a deliciously cool hand on my forehead, then told me I was certainly not going out again. She carried the baby off to another room, and set herself to look after me. This could be fun. She had seen me battered by villains plenty of times, but in the three years I had known her I had probably not had a streaming cold.

"I keep telling you to dry your hair properly before you leave the baths."

"It's nothing to do with wet hair."

"And your arm's so horribly burned. You're probably feverish."

"I'll need nursing then," I suggested hopefully.

"Bedrest?" asked Helena, in a rather mocking tone. Her eyes had the glint of a girl who knows her loved one is sinking, and will be in her power.

"And massage?" I pleaded.

"Too soft. I'll prepare you a good strong aloe purge."

This was just banter. She could see I was not malingering. Lunch was bestowed upon me, with the daintiest titbits tenderly passed my way. Wine was warmed. My boots were eased off and replaced with slippers' A steaming bowl of pine oil was prepared for me to breathe under a napkin. A message was sent to the Saepta to inform Anacrites I had retired hurt and was being kept at home" Like a pupil granted a day off school, I felt better at once.

"You can't go out to dinner tonight--"

"I have to." Playing the dutiful patient under the napkin, I called out the story of the dead ostrich and the Sacred Geese.

"That's terrible. Imagine the furore if the geese had been killed instead. Marcus, the last thing Vespasian needs at this juncture is the public imagination inflamed by a bad omen."

From all I had heard, Vespasian was himself pretty superstitious; it went with being country born. I popped out of the inhalent tent and was firmly pushed back under again. "Don't worry," I coughed as the aromatic heat enveloped me. "I warned the custodian to keep his mouth shut--"

"Keep breathing." Thanks, darling!

"Vespasian need never know."

Helena sounded crisp: "Saturninus should be challenged, however. He must be behind poisoning the sacks of corn, as revenge for Calliopus freeing his leopardess."

"It wouldn't have been in anyone's interest to kill Juno's geese."

"No. So the threat of unwanted imperial attention might help cool the quarrel. I'll go to dinner with Saturninus tonight and warn him--"

"Either we cry off--or we both go."

"Well then; I'll do the talking." All my life women who reckoned they knew what was good for me had been telling me that.

I nodded, as best I could in my position, crouched over the inhalant bowl, for once grateful not to have to take control. I could trust Helena to say the right thing and to ask the right questions.

Bored, I came up for air, only to wish myself hidden again. We had a visitor: Smaractus must have been watching to see if I came home for lunch. The fact that he had allowed me long enough to eat it and to mellow warned me that his mission must be serious.

"Is there a funny smell here, Falco?" He must have caught a whiff of the goose dung Nux had wallowed in.

"Well, it's either something nasty the landlord ought to clear away--or it's the landlord himself: What do you want? I'm ill; make it quick."

"They say you're involved with the new amphitheatre opening."

Blowing my nose, I made no reply.

Smaractus squirmed with ingratiating oiliness. Now I really felt sick. "I wondered if there was any chance of you putting in a word for me, Falco?"

"Olympus! I must be delirious."

"No, you heard him," said Helena.

I was about to tell him to jump in the Tiber wearing lead-soled boots, when loyally to Lenia prevailed. I wanted to get her off my back, for one thing. "It would be a pleasure." With luck it just sounded as though a sore throat made me croak, not reluctance to utter those charming words. "I'll make a bargain, Smaractus. Sign the release for the dowry and divorce Lenia, then I'll see what I can do. If not, well you know my position; as an old friend, I promised to help her sort out her affairs. She would never forgive me if I did more for you than for her."

He was furious. "I'll see her in Hades first."

"I'll draw you a map of how to find the Styx. It's your decision. Your outfit is hardly on the list for the opening ceremony. Your gladiators' school is struggling--"

"Only struggling to expand, Falco!"

"Think about my terms then. There will be fabulous pickings when the amphitheatre opens. But a man has to act on his principles--" Smaractus wouldn't recognise a principle if it walked up on six legs and bit the end of his nose.

I buried my head under the napkin and lost myself in soothing steam. I heard a growl, but I did not investigate. Lenia would soon tell me if he did anything--useful or otherwise.

Various other visitors tried to bother me that afternoon, but by then I was tucked up in bed with the dog warming my feet and the bedroom door firmly closed. As I dozed I was vaguely aware of Helena's voice dismissing the intruders. One sounded like Anacrites. Then I heard my young nephew Gaius, no doubt being bribed to look after Julia for us that night. Another, I was more sorry to hear, could have been my old pal Petronius, but he too was sent away. I found out later he had brought me some wine, his favourite remedy for colds as it was for everything. There are doctors who agree with him" Mind you, there are doctors who will agree anything. Plenty of dead patients could testify to that.

Eventually, just when I felt happy to stay where I was for the rest of the week, Helena roused me and brought me a basin of hot water to wash. I made a cursory effort with a sponge and comb, then pulled on several undertunics and finally the new russet garment. It was so pristine it was just waiting to have a really purple sauce accidentally spilled down it. It felt too bulky, and the sleeves resisted free movement. Whereas my old green number had sat on me like a second skin, in this one I was, constantly aware of itchy cloth and folds I wasn't expecting. It smelt of fullers' chemicals too.

Helena Justina made herself deaf to my muttering. Once I was ready--as ready as I was prepared to make myself--I lay on the bed and watched glumly as she quietly dressed her hair. Before she left her father's house to live with me, maids would have curled her long soft locks with hot tongs, but now she had to comb, wind and spear her hair herself: She had become adept with the fine knobbed pins; she made no complaint. Then she peered into a blurry bronze hand mirror, trying to apply wineless rouge and lupinseed powder by the dim light of a small oil lamp. At that point she did start muttering to herself: December was a poor month for beautification. The fine eye-work with colours drawn from green glass flasks on silver spatulas entailed bending close to the rectangular mirror set into her jewel casket, and even that caused explosions of frustration. I heaved myself upright and refilled the lamp for her, not that it seemed to help. And I was in her way, apparently.

According to Helena she was not really bothering. That would be why this took over an hour.

Just when I was comfortable and nodding off again, she pronounced herself ready to escort me to dinner. She was now tastefully bedecked in pale green, with her amber necklace and wooden-soled slippers, topped off by a thick winter wrap that hung around her rather alluringly. She made a graceful contrast to me in my tortuous russet.

"You look very smart, Marcus." I sighed. "I've borrowed my parents' litter so you won't be exposed to the weather. It's a cold evening though--" As if the new tunic were not trouble enough, then she hit me with the ultimate embarrassment: "You could wear your Gallic coat!"

Bought in Lower Germany in a rash moment, this was a sturdy, shapeless, warm felt robe. It had wide sewn-on sleeves that stuck out at right angles and a ludicrous pointed hood. It was intended to be storm-proof; Stylishness had not been part of its make up. I had sworn never to be seen in my home city wearing anything so crude" But I must have been really sick that night: despite all protests, Helena somehow swaddled me in my Gallic coat, fastening the toggles under my chin as if I was three years old.

Now I knew I should have stayed in bed. I had planned to waylay Saturninus with my sophistication. Instead, I arrived at his smart house, bundling out of a borrowed litter with a runny nose, fevered eyes, and looking like some little hunchbacked Celtic forest god. What made me most furious was that I realised Helena Justina was laughing at me.

XXVIII

SATURNINUS AND HIS wife lived near the Quirinal Hill. Every room in their house had been painted about three months before by professional fresco artists. The couple owned a large quantity of silver furniture, which they scattered with bright cushions in compelling shades. The neat legs of the couches and side-tables buried themselves in luxurious fur rugs--some still with the heads on. I just managed to avoid stuffing my left foot into a dead panther's dentistry.

As I was led in and divested of my outer garments, I gathered the wife was called Euphrasia. She and her husband came civilly to welcome us the moment we arrived. She was an extremely handsome woman, about thirty, darker-skinned than him, with a generous mouth, and gorgeous, gentle eyes.

She led us to a warm dining room decorated in rich red and black. Folding doors led into a colonnaded garden which Saturninus said they used for meals in summer. He showed us briefly; there was a sparkling grotto made from coloured glass and seashells at the far end. With kindly expressions of concern for my health, he brought us back in and had me placed near a brazier.

We were the only guests. Apparently their idea of entertaining was to keep the party intimate. Well, that fitted with what I had been told about the night they dined with ex-praetor Urtica.

I tried to remember I was here to work, though in fact the house was so comfortable and my hosts so easygoing that I found I was starting to forget. I had instinctively distrusted Saturninus, yet I was helpless in less than half an hour.

Luckily Helena stayed alert. Once we had talked of this and that, while eating this and that in generous, highly spiced portions, and while I was trying to stop my nose running after the spices, she weighed straight in: "So tell me what your background is. How did you come to Rome?"

Saturninus stretched his wide frame on his couch. He seemed characteristically relaxed. He was in a grey tunic almost as new as mine, with gold torque bracelets on his upper arms, his fingers glittering with heavy seal rings. "I came over from Tripolitania--oh, about twenty years ago. I was freeborn and favoured in life. My family was well off; cultured, leaders of the local community. We had land, though like most people not enough of it--"

"This was where? What's your home town?" Helena believed most people were over-keen to impart their life histories, and as a rule she made a point of not asking them. But when she did, she was unstoppable.

"Lepcis Magna."

"That's one of the three cities that the province takes its name from?"

"Right. The others are Oea and Sabratha. Of course 1 will tell you Lepcis is the most significant."

"Of course." Helena had been speaking in a bright, enquiring voice as if making casual conversation, though as a rather nosy guest. The lanista talked with ease and confidence. I believed his claim that in Lepcis his family were people of substance. But that left a large question mark. Helena smiled: "I don't mean to be impertinent, but when a man from a good background ends up as a lanista, there must be a story behind it."

Saturninus thought about it. I noticed Euphrasia was watching him. They seemed a companionable couple, but like many wives she viewed her partner with a faint veil of amusement, as though he didn't fool her. I also thought the gentle eyes could be deceptive.

Her husband shrugged. If he had fought in the arena, he had based his life on taking up challenges. I reckon he knew Helena was no easy touch, and perhaps the risk of giving away too much appealed to him. "I left home claiming I was off to become important in Rome."

"And so you were too proud to go back before you made your name?" Helena and he were like old friends laughing together sympathetically over the faults of one of them. Saturninus was pretending to be honest; Helena pretended to go along with it.

"Rome was something of a shock," Saturninus admitted. "I had money and education. In that respect I could match any youth of my age from the great senatorial families but I was a provincial and debarred from political life at a high level. I could have engaged in trade--imports and exports--but it was not my style; well, I might as well have stayed in Lepcis and done that. The other alternative was to become some sort of dreary poet, like a Spaniard begging for favours at court--" Euphrasia snorted at this suggestion; Helena smiled; Saturninus acknowledged them. "All the time I saw beer-swilling lanks from Gallic tribes being admitted to the Senate with full honours, while Tripolitanians did not rate the same distinction."

"They will," I assured him. Vespasian had once been governor of Africa; he would extend the senatorial franchise once he thought of it. Previous emperors had done so for provinces they knew well (hence the long bearded senatorial Gauls Saturninus so despised, who had been championed by loopy old Claudius). In fact, if Vespasian hadn't had the idea yet of doing something for Africa, I could nudge him along with a report. Anything to look helpful to the government. And Vespasian would like it, being a cheap measure.

"Too late for me!" Saturninus was right; he was too old and in a vile profession.

"So you decided to beat the system?" asked Helena quietly.

"I was young and hotheaded. Of course I was the type who had to take on the world in the hardest way available."

"You became a gladiator."

"And a good one," he boasted pleasantly.

"Am I right that willing volunteers have greater status?"

"You still have to win your fights, lady. Otherwise you have all the status of a corpse being dragged out with hooks."

Helena looked down at her sweetmeat bowl.

"When I won my wooden sword, it gave me a kind of bitter pleasure to become a lanista," Saturninus went on after a moment. "Senators were allowed to maintain troupes of gladiators; for them it was just an exotic hobby. I used the profession for real. And it worked; it gave me all the status I wanted in the end."

This man was an intriguing mixture of ambition and cynicism" He still looked as much like a gladiator as any slave sold into that life, yet he enjoyed his present luxuries quite naturally. Before he joined the fight business, he had grown up in Tripolitania being served his food by respectful minions and receiving it in elegant tableware. His wife Euphrasia ordered in the courses at dinner with an imperious wave; she too was fully at ease with their lifestyle She wore a huge necklace with rows of twisted wires and copper disks, including fiery carbuncles; it looked both exotic and antique, and was perhaps inherited.

"Yours is a typical Roman story," I said. "The rules say you belong where your money places you. But unless your name is Cornelius or Claudius, and your family once owned a house at the base of the Palatine inside the walls of Romulus, then you have to manoeuvre your way to a place. New men need to push hard to gain acceptance. But it can be done."

"With respect, Saturninus," Helena joined in, "it's not entirely to do with being provincial. Someone like Marcus has just as hard a battle."

I shrugged. "The Senate may be closed to many of us, but so what? Who needs the Senate? Who wants the bother of it, frankly? Anyone can move wherever he wants, if he has the staying power. You prove the point, Saturninus. You fought your way up, literally. Now you dine with city magistrates." He showed no reaction as I alluded to Pomponius Urtica. "You lack nothing of luxury or social position"--I decided not to mention power, though he must have that too--"even though your occupation is sordid."

Saturninus gave me a wry grin. "The lowest possible element--both pimps and butchers. We procure men, but as dead meat."

"Is that how you see it?"

I had thought his mood dark, but Saturninus was thoroughly enjoying the conversation. "What do you want me to say, Falco? Pretend I supply my men as some religious act? Human sacrifice, a blood payment to appease the gods?"

"Human sacrifice has always been illegal for Romans."

"Yet that's how it all started," Helena demurred. "Pairs of gladiators were matched during funeral games held by the great families. It was a rite, perhaps intended to confer immortality on their dead by the shedding of blood. Even though gladiators fought in the Cattle Market Forum, it was still portrayed as a private ceremony."

"And that's where everything differs nowadays!" Saturninus leant forwards, shaking his forefinger. "Now holding a private bout is disallowed." He was right: the motive would be suspect. I wondered if this had particular relevance" Had there been some private bout recently? Or had somebody at least tried to commission one?

"That's the political element," I said. "Now combats are given to bribe the mob during elections--or to glorify the Emperor. The praetors get a look in once a year in December, but otherwise, only the Emperor may offer Games to the public. A private display would be regarded as shocking and self-indulgent--and in effect treasonous. The Emperor would certainly view any man who commissioned one as hostile to him."

Saturninus knew how to listen completely impassively. But I felt I was close to some truth. Were we still debating Pomponius Urtica, perhaps?

"Without the ceremony, it would just be a lust for blood," said Helena.

"Why?" Euphrasia, the elegant wife, made a rare contribution: "Is it more cruel to shed blood in a private situation than before a huge crowd?"

"The arena enshrines a national ritual," said Helena. "I do think it's cruel, and I am not alone" But gladiatorial games set the rhythm of life in Rome, along with the chariot races, the naumachia, and theatrical dramas."

"And many combats are a formal punishment for criminals," I pointed out.

Helena winced. "That's the cruellest part--when prisoners fight, naked and unprotected, each knowing that if he prevails against one opponent he will only be kept in the arena and made to fight another, one who is fresh as well as desperate."

She and I had had this argument before. "But you don't even enjoy watching the professionals, whose swordplay is a matter of skill," I said.

"No. Though that's not as bad as what happens to the criminals."

"It's supposed to be redeeming for them. Their shame is denounced by the crowd; the statues of gods are veiled so they shall not see the proclamation of the condemned men's crimes; and justice is seen to be done."

Helena still shook her head. "It ought to make the crowd feel ashamed to partake in the event."

"Don't you want criminals punished?"

"I find what happens too routine; that's why I dislike it."

"It's for the public good," I disagreed.

"At least they are being seen to pay a penalty," Euphrasia put in.

"If you don't think it's humane," I wrangled with Helena, "what else do you think we should do with a monster like Thurius? He put unknown numbers of women through horrendous experiences, killed and dismembered them. Simply to fine him, or send him into exile, would be intolerable. And unlike a private citizen, he can't be ordered to fall on his sword when he is apprehended and disgraced; he's not conditioned to do it and anyway, he's a slave; he's not allowed a sword unless he's confined in the arena and is fighting as a punishment."

Helena shook her head. "I know that prisoners being condemned to die in public is supposed to warn others. I know it's vengeance for the public. I just don't want to be there."

Saturninus leant towards her. He had been listening in silence while we argued" "If the state orders an execution, should it not be carried out openly?"

"Perhaps," Helena agreed. "But the arena uses punishment as a fom1 of entertainment. That's sinking to the criminals' level."

"There is some difference," the lanista explained. "To extinguish life in the arena, by the swipe of a lion's paw or with the sword, should be quick and fairly efficient. You called it routine--but to me that is what makes it pem1issible" It's neutral--dispassionate. It's not the same as torture; it's nothing like this criminal Thurius deliberately inflicting prolonged pain, and gloating over his victims' suffering."

His wife biffed him with one graceful hand. "Now you're going to tell us about the nobility of a gladiator's death."

He was blunt. "No. That's waste; it costs money; every time I have to see it I feel sick. If it's one of mine who dies, I'm angry too."

"Now you're talking about your expensively trained professionals, not condemned men," I smiled. "So you'd like to see fights where they all walk away? Just a display of skill?"

"Nothing wrong with skill! But I like what the crowd likes, Marcus Didius."

"Always the pragmatist?"

"Always the businessman. There is a demand; I provide what is wanted. If I did not do the job, someone else would."

The traditional excuse from suppliers of vice! That was why lanistae were called pimps. Since I had eaten at his table, I refrained from saying it. I was tainted too.

Euphrasia liked to stir things, apparently; she had a provocative streak: "I think you two guests have a big disagreement about cruelly and humanity!"

We lived as man and wife; by definition our disagreements were never sophisticated.

Helena probably resented a near stranger commenting on our relationship. "Marcus and I both agree that an accusation of cruelly is the worst insult you can offer anyone. Cruel emperors are damned in the public memory and removed from the record. And of course "humanity" is a Latin word--a Roman invention." For an unsnobbish woman she could lay on a superior air like honey on a cinnamon plait.

"And how do Romans define their wonderful humanity?" asked Euphrasia satirically.

"Kindness," I supplied. Restraint. Education. A civilized attitude towards all people."

"Even slaves?"

"Even lanistae," I said drily.

"Oh even them!" Euphrasia glanced sideways at her husband wickedly.

"I want vicious criminals punished," I said. "Watching it gives me no personal pleasure, but it does seem right to be a witness. I don't feel I lack humanity--though I do concede, I am glad to live with a girl who has a fuller share of it."

Euphrasia was still harping: "And so you are eager to see Thurius fed to a lion?"