Helena's wicker chair was by my bed, so I motioned Severina to sit down. 'Nice to have a visitor.' The atmosphere seemed tense and I wanted to loosen the screw.

She scowled. 'So where is your attendant?'

'Helena?' The girl's insistency was irritating me, but stretched out on my own bed in comfort, I could not be bothered to fight. The redhead seemed to have an envious urge for possession, like a child s.n.a.t.c.hing at other infants' toys before it has been taught self-control. 'Helena Justina has gone to explain to her father, who happens to be a senator, why I have yet to put in an appearance to apologise for pinching his n.o.ble child. If a man rushes in with red crescents on his boots--' (the traditional patrician uniform) '--bearing a sharp sword and a furious expression, just step aside and let him get to me!'

'You unspeakable hypocrite--you're after her money!'

'Oh she's after mine. I have great difficulty keeping her away from my accounts!'

People never believe the truth.

There was a silence. I was still too sick to concern myself with other people's touchiness.

'What's this, Falco?'

I had a slate on the bed. 'Today's diagnosis was boredom;I was left here with orders to write a poem. Thought I might scribble a satire on why I hate parrots.'

'What a rude man!' crooned Severina to the parrot.

'What a rude man!' Chloe instantly answered her. Chloe instantly answered her.

'Quick learner!' I observed.

Unabashed Severina turned back to me. 'Does this mean the investigation has ground to a halt?'

'Ah! The investigation ...' I joked, teasing her with flippancy. There were several queries I could have put to her: concerning egg-white glazes for instance, or thrownaway patisserie. But I had decided to complete my enquiries before I let Severina Zotica confuse the issue with more easy answers. I adopted my brave professional voice: 'I need a week at home in bed -- but I shall have to make do with three days. Tomorrow morning is the funeral of the Hortensius chef, which I want to attend.'

Severina looked troubled. 'What happened to Viridovix, Falco? I heard he had died, very suddenly. Is it something to do with what happened to Novus?'

I smiled rea.s.suringly. 'Viridovix died peacefully in his sleep.'

'Then why are you going to his funeral?'

'Firstly, I liked him. Also, it gets me near the house.'

'Looking for clues?'

'Could be.'

'Falco, I don't understand you sometimes! I am your client, Falco. Why is it necessary to be so secretive?'

'No complicated motive. All right: I think it might be useful to show the Hortensius family--and probably through them to warn that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Priscillus--that contrary to rumour I am still able to get about.' She looked down at me, as if she was afraid I might not manage it. 'Tell me, have you ever encountered this Priscillus?'

She frowned suspiciously, though in fact the question was mere curiosity. 'When I was married to the apothecary, we lived near that house of his up on the Esquiline. Then when things between him and Novus were at their worst recently, I went to see Priscillus myself. I acted as go-between and took his invitation to the dinner--'

'Novus agreed to that?'

'Of course! I would never have gone otherwise.' I nodded gravely, amused by this shocked protest; of course no respectable female visits men. But then who is respectable; 'If it was Priscillus who killed my fiance, I helped bring it about!' She had a quaint way of overlooking ironies, 'Calm down,' I clucked. 'A property war was about to erupt well before you took a hand in it. And now I've been on the receiving end of Priscillus when he felt disgruntled, I reckon Hortensius Novus was destined for Hades what- ever you did.'

'Do you think it was Priscillus? Did he attack you because you had some evidence?'

'Priscillus would probably have killed Novus if he could get away with it. I am not sure yet. My money is on Pollia and Atilia at the moment--' She looked satisfied with that alternative, as any woman would.

I was starting to worry why Helena had been gone so long; I missed her if she left the house. I suggested Severina could stay and meet her. 'No; I was on my way to the baths--' So much for making a special journey to see me She persuaded the parrot to hop on to the post at the end of my bed. 'Now: you are going to the cook's funeral; I still don't really know why--' She paused, as if she did not entirely trust me. I scowled, which may not have given the rea.s.surance she required. 'Will you come and see me afterwards?' 'If madam requires.'

Before she left she told me to take care of myself (though I thought we had established someone else was doing that), then at the last moment she leaned over and kissed my cheek.

I swear she expected me to grapple her onto the bed Some people show no respect for an invalid.

'Alone at last!' I sighed at the parrot.

'More front than the beach at Baiae!' the parrot returned colloquially.

I started my poem.

Afterwards I did some thinking.

Anyone else who had been battered to cow-heel glue by Appius Priscillus might decide that alone convicted him of any unsolved deaths that month. I was not so sure. The sequence of events seemed illogical. Hortensius Novus had invited Priscillus to dinner, promising a pact; there was no way Priscillus could have known until the night was over that Novus would reject a merger after all. When things were looking hopeful, why come armed to murder him? The over-ostentatious cake rang with the women's resonance. Obvious and vulgar. Too obvious, it seemed to me--but crimes are often committed with ludicrously poor judgement. Criminals are supposed to be cunning and clever. Sometimes fools get away with a crackpot scheme because no one can believe they would have behaved so stupidly. Not me though. After five years as an informer, I was prepared to believe anything. I had been thoughtful too long. 'So tell me who did it? Chloe screamed. I threw my boot at her, just as Helena came in. She rushed out again, giggling helplessly. 'How was your father?' I shouted after her. 'He wants to talk to you.' 'I thought he might!'

She poked her head back round the door curtain and gave me a smile which ought to have warned me there was worse to come. 'Actually, my mother does as well...'

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 rea.s.sure 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 a.s.sembled in a s.p.a.ce 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 pa.s.sed 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 quant.i.ty 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. 'h.e.l.lo! 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 pa.s.sed 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 cla.s.sy 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!'

That explained everything--his partners and Priscillus believed he had invited them to dinner to reconcile their differences--but in fact, Novus was planning a spiteful scene: once the doors were closed and the conversation became sub rosa, he confronted them with his knowledge of their previous canoodling--to which his solution was: marry Severina Zotica, abnegate the time-honoured partnership, probably move house when he got married, set up solo--and take the business off with him. That would horrify Felix and Crepito--because not only would they lose their share of the Hortensius business empire, they would also forfeit any pa.s.sing interest they had held for Appius Priscillus. He was no man to take on dud partners. They were dumped off both sides of the boat!

'Felix and Crepito must have been s.h.i.tting Nile delta mud--how did Priscillus take it?'

'Surprisingly well,' said the chamberlain.

Up until then I had been surviving, but I suddenly felt too much aware that it was my first day out of doors. Excitement and the heat from the pyre were threatening to keel me over. I stopped talking. I had to concentrate on fighting this sudden sweat.

The chamberlain had done enough that day for truth and justice; I could feel him closing up.

A small group of us watched the last spurt of the sweet-scented flames as Viridovix went in the Roman fashion to his own remote G.o.ds.

'He was a prince!' I murmured. 'Though a dedicated cook. A cla.s.sic. He and I saw out his last night in the way any cook would have wanted--with a good drink, pilfered from the higher-ups ... in fact,' I sighed, 'I wouldn't mind knowing what the vintage was, so I can buy myself an amphora and drink it in his memory--'

'Here's your man then--' The chamberlain stopped a youngster, with the swollen eyelids of a late-riser up before his natural time, who was on his way forward to pour a libation on the pyre. 'Galenus keeps our cellar--'

'Thanks! Galenus, can you tell me what variety of Falernian Crepito and Felix drink -- would it be Faustianum?'