Helena watched him in a silence that may have pa.s.sed for politeness to a stranger. I like more alluring entertainment. I watched her. Tranio finally banged down the lid and sat on the chest kicking his heels against its studded sides. The friendly fellow looked as if he intended to stay chatting until dawn.

'No luck?' I asked.

'No, d.a.m.n it!'

Helena yawned blatantly. Tranio gave a flourishing gesture of acquiescence, took the hint, and left.

My tired eyes met Helena's for a moment. In the weak light of the flare Tranio had left us, hers looked darker than ever -and not devoid of challenge.

'Sorry, fruit.'

'Well, you have to do your work, Marcus.' .. 'I'm still sorry.'

'Find anything out?'

'Early days.'

Helena knew what that meant: I had found nothing. As I washed my face in cold water she told me, 'Chremes dropped in to tell you he has found the rest of his people, and we're performing here tomorrow.' She could have announced this while we were waiting for Tranio to go, but Helena and I liked to exchange news more discreetly. Discussing things together in private meant a lot to us. 'He wants you to write out the moneylender's part Heliodorus used to play. You have to make sure that omitting the character doesn't lose any vital lines. If.so-'

'I reallocate them to someone else. I can do that!'

'All right.'

'I could always go on stage as the moneylender myself.'

'You have not been asked.'

'Don't see why not. I know what they're like. Jove knows I've dealt with enough of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' Helena scoffed. 'You're a free-born Aventine citizen; you're much too proud to sink so low!'

'Unlike you?'

'Oh I could do it. I'm a senator's offspring; disgracing myself is my heritage! Every family my mother gossips with has a disgruntled son no one talks about who ran off to scandalise his grandfather by acting in public. My parents will be disappointed if I don't don't.'

'Then they will have to be disappointed, so long as I'm in charge of you.' Supervising Helena Justina was a rash claim; she laughed at me. 'I promised your father I'd keep you respectable,' I finished lamely.

'You promised him nothing.' True. He had more sense than to ask me to take on that impossible labour.

'Feel free to carry on reading,' I offered, fumbling with my boots.

Helena removed from under her pillow the scroll I guessed she had been peacefully perusing before I turned up like trouble. 'How could you tell?' she demanded.

's.m.u.t on your nose from the lamp.' In any case, after living with her for a year I had deduced that if I left her anywhere near forty papyrus scrolls she would scoot through the lot in a week like a starved library beetle.

'This is pretty grubby too,' she remarked, gesturing to her bedtime read.

'What is it?'

'A very rude collection of anecdotes and funny tales. Too saucy for you, with your pure mind.'

'I'm not in the mood for p.o.r.nography.' I took several chances in succession, aiming myself at the bed, inserting my body under the light cover, and winding myself around my la.s.s. She allowed it. Perhaps she knew better than to argue with a hopeless drunk. Perhaps she liked being enveloped.

'Could this be what Tranio was looking for?' she asked.

Sick of Tranio, I pointed out that he had said quite decisively his lost item was not a scroll.

'People do sometimes tell lies!' Helena reminded me pedantically.

We too, like the Twins, had our tent divided up for privacy. Behind the makeshift curtain I could hear Musa snoring. The rest of the camp lay silent. It was one of our few moments of solitude, and I was not interested in a risque Greek novel, if that was what Helena had been studying. I managed to extract the scroll from her and tossed it aside. I let it be known what mood I was in.

'You're not capable,' she grumbled. Not without reason, and perhaps not without regret.

With an effort that may have surprised her I wrenched myself sideways and up-ended the flare in a pitcher of water. Then, as it hissed into darkness, I turned back to Helena intent on proving her wrong.

Once she accepted that I was serious, and likely to stay awake long enough, she sighed. 'Preparations, Marcus...'

'Incomparable woman!' I let her go, apart from annoying her with delaying caresses as she struggled over me on her way out of bed.

Helena and I were one, a lasting partnership. But due to her fears of childbirth and my fears of poverty, we had taken the decision not to add to our family yet. We shared the burden of defying the Fates. We had rejected wearing a hairy spider amulet, as practised by some of my sisters, mainly because its success seemed doubtful; my sisters had huge families. Anyway, Helena reckoned I was not sufficiently frightened of spiders to be driven off her by a mere amulet. Instead, I faced the deep embarra.s.sment of bribing an apothecary to forget that controlling birth contravened the Augustan family laws; then she endured the humiliating, sticky procedure with the costly alum in wax. We both had to live with the fear of failing. We both knew if that happened we could never allow a child of ours to be killed in the womb by an abortionist, so our lives would take a serious turn. That had never stopped us giggling over the remedy.

Without a light, I heard Helena cursing and laughing as she rummaged for her soapstone box of thick cerate ointment that was supposed to keep us childless. After some muttering she hopped back to bed. 'Quick, before it melts - '

Sometimes I thought the alum worked on the principle of making performance impossible. Instructed to be quick, as every man knows, the will to proceed is liable to collapse. Following too many winecups this seemed even more likely, though the wax at least helped provide a steady aim, after which maintaining a position, as my gymnasium trainer Glaucus would call it, did become more difficult.

Applying care to these problems, I made love to Helena as skilfully as a woman can expect from a man who has been made drunk by a couple of cra.s.s clowns in a tent. And since I always ignore instructions, I made sure that I did it very slowly, and for the longest possible time.

Hours later I thought I heard Helena murmur, 'A Greek and a Roman and an elephant went into a brothel together; when they came out, only the elephant was smiling. Why?'

I must have been asleep. I must have dreamed it. It sounded like the sort of joke my tentmate Petronius Longus used to wake me up to howl over when we were wicked lads in the legions ten years before.

Senators' nicely brought-up daughters are not even supposed to know that jokes like that exist.

Chapter XVIII.

Bostra was our first performance. Certain aspects stick in the memory. Like an acrid sauce repeating after a cut-price dinner party given by a patron you had never liked.

The play was called The Pirate Brothers The Pirate Brothers. Despite Chremes' claim that his notable company only tackled the standard repertoire, this drama was the product of no known author. It appeared to have developed spontaneously over many years from any bits of business the actors had enjoyed in other plays, expounded in whatever lines from the cla.s.sics they could remember on the night. Davos had whispered to me that it went best when they were down to their last few coppers and seriously hungry. It required tight ensemble playing, with despair to give it an edge. There were no pirates; that was a ploy to attract an audience. And even though I had read what purported to be the script, I had failed to identify the brothers of the t.i.tle.

We offered up this dismal vehicle to a small crowd in a dark theatre. The audience on the creaking wooden seats was swelled by spare members of our company, well drilled in creating a vibrant mood with enthusiastic cheers. Any one of them could have earned a good living in the Roman Basilica egging on prosecuting barristers, but they were having a hard time breaking the morose Nabataean atmosphere.

At least we had an increased complement to give us confidence. Helena had nosed about the camp to see who the additions to our company were.

'Cooks, slaves and flute girls,' I informed her before she could tell me.

'You've certainly done your reading!' she replied, with admiring sarcasm. She was always annoyed at being forestalled.

'How many are there?'

'Quite a tribe! They're musicians as well as extras. They all double up making costumes and scenery. Some take the money if the performance is ticketed.'

We had both learned already that the ideal ruse was to persuade a gullible local magistrate to subsidise our play, hoping to trade on the crowd's goodwill next election time. He would pay us a lump sum for the night, after which we needn't care if n.o.body bothered to come. Chremes had managed to swing this at towns in Syria, but in Nabataea they had not heard of the civilised Roman custom of politicians bribing the electorate. For us, playing to an empty arena would mean eating from empty bowls. So Congrio was sent out early to chalk up enticing notices for The Pirate Brothers The Pirate Brothers on local houses, while we hoped he didn't choose to annoy any householders who were keen theatregoers. on local houses, while we hoped he didn't choose to annoy any householders who were keen theatregoers.

In fact, 'keen' was not an epithet that seemed to apply in Bostra. Since our play was ticketed, we knew in advance that there must be some rival attraction in town: a snail race with heavy side-bets, or two old men playing a very tense game of draughts.

It was drizzling. This is not supposed to happen in the wilderness, but as Bostra was a grain basket we knew they must get rain for their corn sometimes. Sometimes was tonight.

'I gather the company will perform even if the theatre is being struck by lightning,' Helena told me, scowling.

'Oh stalwart chaps!'

We clung together under a cloak among a thin crowd trying to make out the action through the miserable mist.

I was expecting to be hailed as a hero after the play. I had taken a great deal of trouble with my adaptation and had spent all morning perfecting new lines, or tinkering with tired old ones as much as time allowed. I had proudly presented the revisions to Chremes at lunch, though he brushed aside my eager offer to attend the afternoon rehearsal and point out significant changes. They called it a rehearsal, but when I stationed myself on a back row at the theatre, trying to overhear how things were going, I was dismayed. Everyone spent most of their time discussing a flute girl's pregnancy and whether Chremes' costume would last in one piece another night.

The actual performance bore out my disquiet. My laborious redraft had been tossed aside. All the actors ignored it. As the action evolved they repeatedly referred to the missing moneylender, even though he would never appear, then in the last act they improvised a few haphazard speeches to get around the problem. The plot, which I had so wittily resurrected, dwindled into ludicrous tosh. For me, the most bitter insult was that the audience swallowed the gibberish. The sombre Nabataeans actually applauded. They stood up politely, clapping their hands above their heads. Somebody even threw what looked like a flower, though it may have been an unpaid laundry bill.

'You're upset!' Helena observed, as we fought our way to the exit. We barged past Philocrates, who was hanging around the gateway, showing off his profile to admiring women. I steered Helena through a smaller group of men with entranced expressions who were waiting for the beauteous Byrria; she had taken herself off promptly, however, so they were looking over anything else in a long skirt. Having my n.o.bly reared girlfriend mistaken for a flute girl was now my worst nightmare. 'Oh, don't let it worry you, Marcus my love..." She was still talking about the play.

I explained to Helena succinctly that I didn't give a d.a.m.n what a group of illogical, illiterate, impossible thespians did on stage or off it, and that I would see her in a while. Then I strode off to find somewhere I could kick rocks in decent solitude.

Chapter XIX.

It came on to rain more heavily. When you're down, Fortune loves stamping on your head.

Tearing off ahead of everyone else, I reached the centre of our encampment. That was where the heavier waggons were drawn up in the hope that our encircling tents would deter sneak-thieves. Hopping over the nearest tailboard I took shelter under the ragged leather roof that protected our stage properties from the weather. It was my first chance to inspect this battered treasure trove. After I had finished swearing about the performance, I devised a ferocious speech of resignation that ought to leave Chremes whimpering. Then I fetched out my tinderbox, wasted half an hour with it, but eventually lit the large lantern that was carried on stage in scenes of night-time conspiracy.

As the pale flame wandered around dangerously in its ironwork container, I found myself crouching up against a small shrine (large enough to hide behind for overhearing secrets). Stacked opposite were several painted doorways, meant to distinguish the neighbouring houses that featured in so much of the New Comedy. These had not been used in tonight's Pirate Brothers Pirate Brothers in order to save them from the wet. Instead the scene, which was originally 'A Street in Samothrace', had been redesignated 'A Rocky Coast' and 'The Road to Miletus'; Chremes had simply played Chorus and announced these arbitrary locations to his hapless audience. in order to save them from the wet. Instead the scene, which was originally 'A Street in Samothrace', had been redesignated 'A Rocky Coast' and 'The Road to Miletus'; Chremes had simply played Chorus and announced these arbitrary locations to his hapless audience.

I struggled to settle more comfortably. Under my elbow was an old wooden log with a greying shawl nailed to it (the 'baby'). Sticking out above my head was a gigantic sword of curved design. I a.s.sumed it was blunt - then cut my finger on the edge while testing out my a.s.sumption. So much for scientific experiment. Wicker baskets mostly overflowed with costumes, shoes and masks. One basket had toppled over, showing itself nearly empty apart from a long set of rattly chains, a large ring with a big red gla.s.s stone (for recognition of long-lost offspring), some parcels of shopping, and a brown jar containing a few pistachio sh.e.l.ls (the ever-present Pot of Gold). Behind it were a stuffed sheep (for sacrifice) and a wooden pig on wheels that could be towed across the stage by Tranio in his role as a merrily wittering Clever Cook who cracked thousand-year-old jokes about preparations for the Wedding Feast.

Once I had finished gloomily surveying the torn and faded panoply with which I was sharing this waggon, my thoughts naturally turned again to issues like Life, Fate, and however did I come to end up in this tip being paid zero for an unappealing job? Like most philosophy it was a waste of time. I noticed a woodlouse and began timing his progress, taking bets with myself about which direction he would wander in. I had grown cold enough to think I would now return to my own bivouac and allow Helena Justina to bolster my esteem, when I heard footsteps outside. Somebody stamped up to the waggon, the end flap was beaten aside, there came a flurry of irritated movement, and then Phrygia hauled herself inside. Presumably she too was seeking privacy, though she did not appear bothered by finding me.

Phrygia was as long as a leek; she could overtop most men. She increased her advantage of height by wearing her hair in a coronet of frizzled curls, and by teetering about on frightful platformed shoes. Like a statue that had been purposely designed to stand in a niche, her front view was perfectly finished, but her back had been left in the rough. She was a model of immaculate face paint, with a whole breastplate of gilt jewellery that crackled in layers upon the meticulous pleats of the stole across her bosom. Seen from behind, however, every bone pin pegging down her hairstyle was visible, the frontispiece jewellery all hung from a single tarnished chain that had worn a red furrow in her scrawny neck, the stole was rumpled, the shoes were backless, and her gown was hoicked together and pinned in clumps in order to provide the more elegant drape on her frontal plane. I had seen her walk down a street with a sideways glide that preserved her public image almost intact. Since her stage presence was strong enough to entrance an audience, she did not care if the louts behind the back wall sneered.

'I thought it might be you skulking here.' She threw herself against one of the costume baskets, flapping her sleeves to shake off drops of rain. Some fell on me. It was like being joined on a small couch by a thin but energetic dog.

'I'd better be off,' I muttered. 'I was just sheltering - '

'I see! Don't want that girl of yours to hear you've been closeted in a waggon with the manager's wife?' I settled back weakly. I like to be polite. She looked fifteen years older than me, and might be more. Phrygia favoured me with her bitter laugh. 'Consoling the ranks is my privilege, Falco. I'm the Mother of the Company!'

I joined in the laughter, as one does. I felt threatened, wondering briefly if accepting consolation from Phrygia was an obligation for men in the troupe. 'Don't worry about me. I'm a big boy - '

'Really?' At her tone, I shrank mentally. 'So how was your first night?' she challenged.

'Let's say I can now see how Heliodorus might have turned his back on society!'

'You'll learn,' she consoled me. 'Don't make it so literary. And don't waste time sticking in political allusions. You're not b.l.o.o.d.y Aristophanes, and the people who are paying for tickets are not educated Athenians. We're acting for turnips who only come to talk to their cousins and fart. We have to give them a lot of action and low-level jokes, but you can leave all that to us on stage. We know what's required. Your job is to hone the basic framework and remember the simple motto: short speeches, short lines, short words.'

'Oh, and I foolishly thought I would be handling major themes of social disillusionment, humanity and justice!'

'Skip the themes. You're handling old envy and young love.' Like most of my career as an informer, in fact.

'Silly me!'

'As for Heliodorus,' Phrygia went on, with a change of tone, 'he was just nasty to begin with.'

'So what was his problem?'

'Juno only knows.'

'Did he make enemies with anyone in particular?'

'No. He was fair; he hated everyone.'

'And everyone was even-handed with their loathing in return? What about you, Phrygia? How did you get on with him? Surely an actress of your status was beyond reach of his spite?'

'My status!' she murmured drily. I sat quiet. 'I've had my turn. I was offered the chance to play Medea at Epidaurus once...' It must have been years ago, but I did not disbelieve it. Tonight she had given a crisp cameo performance as a priestess that had let us glimpse what might have been.

'I'd like to have seen that. I can visualise you raving at Jason and bashing the children... What happened?'

'Married Chremes.' And never forgave him. Still, it was premature for me to feel sorry for him when I had no idea what other crises had distorted their relationship. My work had long ago taught me never to judge marriages.

'Heliodorus knew about you missing this Medea?'

'Of course.' She spoke quietly. I had no need to probe for details. I could imagine the use he must have made of the knowledge; a world of torment lay in her very restraint.

She was a great actress. And maybe she was acting now. Maybe she and Heliodorus had really been pa.s.sionate lovers - or maybe she had wanted him, but he rebuffed her, so she arranged his swimming accident... Luckily Helena was not present to pour scorn on these wild theories.

'Why did Chremes keep him on?' Even though she and her husband were not speaking to each other generally, I had a feeling they could always discuss the company. Probably it was the sole factor that kept them together.

'Chremes is too soft-hearted to boot anyone out.' She grinned at me. 'Plenty of people rely on that to keep their position with us!'

I felt my jaw set. 'If that's a jibe at me, I don't need charity. I had a job of my own before I met up with you people.'

'He tells me you're an investigator?'