Helena delved inside the box, deep in its handsome interior. I was in two minds to glide off somewhere, pretending to look for the latrine. Manners won; I bit a pastry instead. Honey oozed down my chin.
I saw Helena's face change. There must be more; the amazing box had contents. My heart started bumping angrily. She began lifting something out and immediately I realised what it was. Unexpected gold scintillations flickered on the casket's lid. Light fluttered like butterflies over her skin. Helena exclaimed in astonishment, `Oh!' Then she lifted an object of breathtaking beauty.
Around the table silence fell.
Slowly, as if terrified she would damage something, Helena placed her gift on the table. Light still glittered from a hundred minutely teased pieces of gold. Helena turned to me. Everyone else was looking at her present. I didn't need to. My concern was watching her.
It was a crown. It was very old. It was Greek. It had once been a prize at some classical games, in the era when athletes were perfect in both body and mind. It was composed of exquisitely suspended leaves and acorns, held on gold wires so delicate they trembled merely in the air. Among the glittering twigs that formed it crouched perfectly shaped insects, and a small golden bee perched over the clasp.
Helena's mother tried to pull herself together. `Oh Helena Justina, I am not sure you should accept this…' Her voice faltered. `Marcus, you have an extremely generous father.'
There was no doubting the reproof: it was too much. The common Didii had behaved crassly. From a mere relative of a purely unofficial son-in-law, such a gift was gross.
I smiled at Helena gently. Her soft dark eyes were full of tears. She knew. She was touching her little finger to one iridescent cicada as it hid beneath an oak leaf, caressing it as gently as if it were a newborn baby's cheek. `Pa has his moments,' I told her quietly. `He has style, and taste, and as your mother mentions, he can be extremely generous. Thoughtful too. He's obviously gone to a lot of trouble to find exactly the right box.'
`The crown is wonderful,' she said.
`You're a wonderful girl.'
`She cannot possibly accept it,' insisted her mother, more firmly. I raised an eyebrow. `Well, can you, fruit?'
Helena Justina smiled at me. She paid no attention at all to her family, but suddenly they understood.
The moment, which had become precious and tender, disintegrated with a lurch. Quintus had roused himself, his face lightly dusted with honey and cinnamon. `Marcus, a message. Your father says sorry he made you sweat. He had to get the crown back from the man he had sold it to.' What an unspeakable degenerate. Justinus burbled on as I ground my teeth. `There won't be any comeback – Geminus told the silly bastard he was retrieving it because he'd just seen on a vigiles listing that it's stolen property…'
Well thank you, Pa!
Helena giggled. Some members of her family may have found that unexpected. She said to me gravely, `I wonder, purely from commercial interest, whether your father screwed as much out of the silly bastard as some other seller had already squeezed from you?'
`Probably not. The disreputable Damascan whose retirement in comfort I've assured, could see I was buying out of love.'
I stood and raised my winecup formally, calling upon everyone to join in my toast. `According to the Damascan, this crown was once a prize in the Nemean Games. A prize worthy only of the finest, my darling.'
Her noble family had the grace to murmur agreement, pretty well spontaneously. We drank to Helena Justina in the robustly acceptable Guaranum that her father had saved to celebrate her special day. `Helena Justina, daughter of Camillus Verus and heart's joy of Didius Falco, greetings on your anniversary!'
`Happy birthday, Helena,' cried Julia Justa. After which, since she could not reach her daughter, whose dining couch was too far from her, the noble matron shed a seemly tear, then turned on her scented elbow and kissed me.
XLV
IT WAS A night to remember, but once we returned to our own apartment I had to drag myself back to the real and sordid world.
The two watches of the Fourth Cohort must have spent those hours of darkness prowling the violent Aventine Hill, expecting to meet horror again. I knew Petronius would be out with them at least part of the time. Martinus, his deputy, would bestir himself to cover another section of the night watch. Fusculus would be there as well. One or other of them might take Porcius, the recruit. Sergius, their man with the whip who enjoyed his job, would be along somewhere looking for careless householders to thrash – and hoping to try his talents on a killer. I had a good idea that if they ever found out who had murdered the brother of Scythax, someone would simply disappear off the streets. The Fourth were in a mood for rough justice. Maybe that was why, when I found I could not sleep, instead of walking out to join them in their grim patrol I stayed at home in bed.
Eventually my restlessness disturbed Helena. `Hush, you'll wake the baby.'
`Not this one, love.'
`Then you'll wake the dog.'
The dog, who was squashing my feet again, shuffled to reinforce the point. `Watch yourself, furry! One false move and I'll turn you into bootliners.'
Winding herself into my arms more closely, Helena lay silent. I knew her well enough to hear her thoughts working; well enough to know what thoughts they were. `Your mother's right. When we have time to give to the babe, we'll find him a home.'
Unconvinced, Helena went on quietly worrying.
I tried again. `Don't fret. The baby's safe here. Let's worry about Tertulla. Tell me how you got on today with Gaius Baebius. How many parents did you manage to talk to? Any success?'
`Not much.' In a low voice Helena recounted her adventures. `There are five families on the list which Petronius gave me. I managed to speak to someone at four of the houses. Only one refused me entry altogether; they are extremely superior.'
`Why do they live on the Aventine then?'
`They must have lived here since they looked down their noses at Romulus.'
`Well if anyone can tweak those noses, it's you! What about the rest?'
`I saw one mother personally. She met me in a room on her own, as if she did not want anyone to know. But even then she just hissed angrily that it was all sorted out now. She was sorry for our troubles, but could not involve herself.'
`Was she frightened?
'Very, I should say.'
`It fits. Kidnappers tend to say don't go to the law or we'll be back. Did she let you see the child?'
`Oh absolutely not! At two other houses I ran into a reception committee of slaves – polite but distant, and no help. At the fourth house the mother refused to see me, but I happened to meet a nursemaid. As I was being seen out by a steward she was taking the child for a walk.'
`What age was the child?'
`A three-year-old boy. I followed his nurse from the house, and inveigled her into conversation as we went down the street. She was horrified to hear of another case, and let me engage her sympathy. She admitted the boy had been taken away – on a similar walk, so she was escorted everywhere now by slaves. That meant they were breathing down our necks and I only had a short opportunity to talk to her. Her story was quite helpful, and it confirm's Petro's theory as far as it goes. The child was snatched when her back was turned, as she bought something at a garment shop. She turned around seconds later and little Tiberius had vanished. There was complete panic in the household overnight; the vigiles were informed, as we know; the father also had all his slaves out combing the streets. Then next day everything abruptly cooled down. The nurse was never told why. The child's parents became withdrawn and secretive. There was a great deal of tension in the household, but the street searches were ended. She thinks the family banker visited.'