Lindsey Davis - The Ides of April

"Right. Stand back." Andronicus took control. He was wonderful. I was a jelly. Every time the pathetic fox quivered and jerked, panic swept through me. I hid my face in my hands, hardly able to look, and could hear myself whimpering. While I dithered, Andronicus was assessing the situation. "This will not be easy…" He took the broom from me. "Go back down to Rodan. Fetch me a decent knife. Find me something-go, Albia!"

Fighting sobs, I obeyed. I would have fetched one of my own knives, but could not pass the wounded animal to reach either my apartment or the office. Behind me I heard Andronicus sternly ordering the children back indoors; this time the subsiding noise indicated the little ones obeyed.

Part of me was prepared to tackle the wounded vixen myself, part was relieved that although he clearly did not like it, Andronicus was willing to take over.

It took a long time to make Rodan come up with a suitable knife. He was unhappy about me going inside his smelly cubicle, and when I shouldered my way past him, he seemed unable to remember where he kept things. He had so few possessions it was easy to see most of them. Some had started out belonging to other people, by the looks of it. The rest was junk. Cracked pots and flywhisks with no feathers. A lumpy mattress. A loincloth hung on an old spear-lacking its head or I would have taken it. Finally, the porter produced a vicious dagger that must pass for dainty dinner-cutlery on rare days when he did not eat with his fingers.

I stumbled back up the stairs. To my huge relief, I found that everything was over.

The vixen lay motionless. Andronicus was leaning against the wall, looking pale and breathing fast. He had dropped the broom on the steps. Everything was silent and still.

"Don't ask." His eyes turned to me with a tired expression. "Don't be upset. She's gone. She passed away, dear tender-hearted one, that's all you need to think about." He stopped me questioning, then held me back from going closer. "She just ran out of strength and stopped breathing, without fear or suffering."

He would not tell me. Perhaps he was right and she simply collapsed from exhaustion and blood loss, or perhaps he had somehow helped her. I suspected he had sent me down to Rodan to get rid of me while he ended her pain.

I felt convinced Andronicus took some action, though could not imagine what. I saw no new marks on the dead animal. He was unarmed. If he had hit her with the broom, it would not have worked and I would have heard the commotion. Besides, my friend lacked that kind of cruelty.

As I hugged him, Rodan came up with a sack to remove the tragic corpse, playing the big man now somebody else had completed the hard task. He bent down to gather the vixen's mangled body, gasping with effort as he doubled up. I looked away. Andronicus shielded me, holding me against his shoulder.

I was still shaking when the porter straightened up, sack in hand. His knees cracked loudly. In a prim voice, he said, "I don't know if you are expecting it, Albia-but your father has sent a carrying-chair to fetch you."

Hades. I should have been expecting it. I had quite forgotten. Today was the Ides of April. My compulsory birthday.

I was in shock over the dead vixen. Otherwise, I might have handled the situation better.

I could have invited Andronicus to come home with me. Why didn't I? Mainly because I had not known him long enough. I still wanted to keep him to myself. As soon as you introduce any friend to your family, they take over. My parents would interrogate him in their separate ways, discreet but determined; my sisters would ask inane questions about us in front of him; even my little brother, a difficult child at the best of times, would stare disconcertingly. We were not ready for that.

Mentioning that it was my birthday seemed unnecessary. I would feel embarrassed. So, looking back, I must have given Andronicus an unfortunate impression that this was a pre-arranged occasion of no great significance, from which I might escape at an early hour. It was only lunchtime now.

"Will you be all right?" he murmured lovingly. I was in a tizzy, which he must have thought was still the fox's fault.

"I shall be with my own folk, don't worry."

"Oh, they will look after her!" Rodan put in, though nobody had asked him. "That Falco is a nasty piece of work, but the rest are quite a nice family in their funny way."

"Thank you, Rodan!" Andronicus seemed more amused by the mixed commendation than annoyed at losing me.

I reassured him that he could dutifully attend the aedile's festival that evening, under no obligation to me. We were no longer in the mood to go to bed together, even if I had been free. The dying vixen had drained our desire. I was distressed and he was disturbed by whatever happened when he was on his own with the fox. It would take a while for either of us to recover.

I apologised for rushing off; he mentioned he might come along to Fountain Court to see me again later. The half-promise was not serious enough for me to mention that my return could be in the early hours.

I was too numb to think clearly. I could still hardly speak.

Andronicus exchanged sweet-talk with me, then sauntered off. He would have seen the chair, with its patient bearers, stood outside waiting. He probably thought if I was summoned in the morning, it would be for a light luncheon and perhaps an afternoon of gossip. I remained shy about explaining that today was my anniversary.

After he left, I went right upstairs to the office to fetch the blue gown on which I had sewn the braid the other day, especially to wear now. It still had the needle in the neck facing, where I had parked it when Andronicus visited. I intended to put away the needle in the bone case that I kept in my sewing box, but maddeningly could not find it. The box was crammed so its contents overflowed if I rummaged too much, and I was hurrying. I assumed I simply failed to see the case, the way you do sometimes even when an object is right in front of you. In the end, I had to stab the needle into a spare end of ribbon. Grabbing the box and the dress, I locked up the office and returned downstairs.

By the time I had made my way back to my apartment, I had become annoyed with myself for bungling. I like to keep equipment neat. I was now in a clumsy state where even putting on earrings was awkward; I could not find the hole in one lobe, which must have been made at an angle and was always elusive when in haste. Once I had changed into the dress and tidied my appearance, I calmed down. Before I left, I upturned the sewing box onto a low table and systematically sorted through its contents, determined not to be beaten. The needle-case was not there.

It could have dropped out on the floor of the office, but I had no time now to return and look. Anyway, I was sure I would have noticed. I hate the feeling something is not right. I particularly hate any hint that someone has tampered with my things. The needle-case was pretty and useful, but not exquisite; the office contained other items to attract a walk-in thief, all perfectly portable. Not many can be bothered to intrude so far up inside a building, with added risks to them at every storey; my apartment downstairs was far more at risk of burglary. So what trickery was this?

Eventually, I was ready to leave, in my blue dress, gold sandals and best earrings, knowing that Mother would comment I was looking tired, as mothers are obliged to do apparently. Tiredness, when it derives from the trials of life, cannot be altered. Nor can a mother be thwarted from looking at you narrow-eyed, even though you know it is her way to show you she cares. The first thing my sisters would shriek would be, "Horrible hair, Albia!" Those two madcaps, Julia and Favonia, would fall on me with combs and ornaments, carrying me off to remedy at least that perceived defect.