“That all?” asked Rutilius dryly.
“No, sir. To complete the picture, she recommends that chief men from Africa be admitted to the Senate, as has already happened with other provinces.”
“Great gods. It's all good stuff-but do you seriously expect Vespasian to accept this from a woman?”
“No, sir. I'll sign the report. He'll think it's from me.” That was no better to a man like Rutilius. I was an Aventine pleb, hardly decent material for the Emperor's inner cabinet.
“You make suggestions like these every time you go abroad?”
“If there seems anything to recommend.”
“And it all gets put into effect?”
“Oh no!” I laughed, reassuring him that the world he knew was not turning upside down. “You know what happens up on the Palatine: the scroll is simply filed away. But maybe in twenty years' time or so, some of the items that Helena thought important will float to the top of an agenda in some short-of-work secretariat.”
Rutilius shook his head in disbelief.
We had reached the stadium. It lay parallel to the shore, swept by brisk sea breezes, one of the finest locations possible. It looked a good course, and a well-used one apparently.
We walked slowly across the racetrack. At present the low evening sun and the sound of the sea at our backs gave the place a peaceful air, though when the whole town came out here to fill the rows of seats, the atmosphere would be totally different. “Tomorrow, in the amphitheater, at this show I have to supervise-” Rutilius paused.
“The show you've been stuck with,” I grinned.
“Which I will be honored to preside over!” he sighed. “Under my auspices anyway, they are planning a program of paired gladiators. As far as I can see, nothing exceptional. That's preceded by a criminal execution, some halfwit blasphemer getting his due ad bestias.”
“A capital crime? Doesn't that need the approval of the governor, sir?”
“The case caused a bit of a crisis. I got drawn in, and it was expedient to say I hold the governor's remit while I'm here. It all blew up this morning, and on top of the land survey it was set to cause a riot. We already have too many people from the rival cities in town at present-things could get ugly tomorrow.”
“So what's the capital case?”
“Totally unacceptable. Some lout passing through drank himself into a stupor, then woke up in the forum and started insulting the local gods. Terribly embarrassing. Attempts were made to restrain him, but he just started bollocking Hannibal and all his descendants at the top of his voice. He was whacked on the head, rescued from the mob, and dragged before the nearest person in authority-I found myself in that unfortunate role. It was an issue, of course: Rome's attitude to the Punic element. I had no choice. So tomorrow there's dinner for the lions.”
“Has a beast been provided?”
“Saturninus just happened to have one,” replied Rutilius.
“I had better warn Helena.”
“Not keen? Neither am I. Ask her to shut her eyes and endure it, if she will. She'll be sitting in my party, right in full view; things have to look good. They say it's a fierce animal; the business should be swift.”
We had now come to a covered walkway that linked the stadium to the arena. The light was fading but we took a chance and marched briskly through a tall, arched corridor. It was probably just intended for pedestrians, though it offered possibilities for joint presentations using both venues. The scope and placing of their auditoria suggested the people of Lepcis had a sophisticated love of being entertained, and demanded a high standard.
Emerging into the amphitheater, a gracious ellipse cut into a hillside, we found workers hard at it, consolidating and raking the white sand on the arena floor. Tomorrow the pristine results of their careful labors would be violently scuffed up and blood-soaked. After a look, I consulted Rutilius, then we set out to climb the rows of seats. Somebody on the top level called my name.
“Who's that, Falco?”
“Wonderful! It's Camillus Justinus, Helena's younger brother. He has been looking for the Gardens of the Hesperides to impress his ladylove-I had hoped he might catch up with us.”
“I've heard of him,” said Rutilius, puffing as we speeded up our climb. “Didn't he cause some trouble, running off with a young woman?”
“He might have got away with stealing the girl, sir-but he ran off with her money too, and there was a lot of it. I'm taking him home to be spanked.”
“Quite right.”
Having formally assumed a proper attitude, the envoy joined me in greeting Justinus with great friendliness.
We found a way we could return to town along the top of the dunes, to avoid the beach. The first unfamiliar African stars winked overhead as we marched along, exchanging news.
“Everything all right with Claudia?”
“Why shouldn't it be?” Justinus had the grace to grin. “I've seen Famia's horse transport in the lagoon today, Marcus, though no sign of him.”
“He'll be in a wine shop. Well, it sounds as though we're all set to sail home then.”
Briefly I toyed with the idea of forgetting the Games, finding Famia, and slipping off straightaway. I was ready to see Rome again. Julia's first birthday ought to be celebrated at home. And anyway, why should we stay? I had no client employing me.
Justinus provided the answer: “Have you heard the rumor running wild? There's a needle-match planned for tomorrow's Games. Saturninus, Calliopus, and Hanno have agreed to arrange a special three-sided bout.”
“What! How's that?”
“It's all rather mysterious, but I heard that each is putting up a gladiator for a fight to the death. It will be the final event-something to make the rival groups from the different towns really yell their heads off.”
The tingle I had felt all day increased. “Hades! That sounds as if this could degenerate into an occasion when the amphitheater erupts.”
“You haven't heard the best. The part that will interest you, Marcus, is that this bout is supposed to settle a legal claim. There's an unusual twist-whichever lanista owns the last man left alive has agreed to pay compensation to a certain Scilla in a suit she has against them all.”
“Io! That means they'll want to lose, surely?”
Justinus laughed. “All three of them are supposed to be putting up some complete no-hoper so it turns into a comedy. The fighters won't want to die-but for once their lanistae will be trying to persuade them to go down.”
“Oh very colorful.”
“From what I heard in the marketplace, there is a curious interest in the deadbeats.”
“Do they have names?” asked Rutilius, just beating me to it.
“None that I heard. All sorts of rumors are flying-freaks with two heads each are the favorite suggestion. Fascinating, eh?”
“Sounds enough to crank up interest,” I said.
“It's high,” Justinus confirmed. “Large bets being taken, perfectly openly.”
“This is it then,” I said. I was speaking to no one in particular, though both of my companions must have known just what I meant.
Somewhere in Lepcis that night menagerie keepers would be starving a lion.
Somewhere too, gladiators of various qualities were enjoying the traditional lavish eve-of-fight meal. It was their privilege-and could be their curse. It was often the clincher when the following day dawned; they would be tempted to enjoy all they could, since it might be their last chance. But indulge too much, and that would count against them in the ring.