Lindsey Davis - The Jupiter Myth

'You're a grumpy old republican! Oh I despise them too, Marcus, but if they have to happen I would rather it was in a cause like this.'

'Bad politics.' I hated this situation. The Claudian emperors were fond of it, subjecting their enemies to secret trials at the Palace, rather than facing them in the Senate or open court. I had hoped that with our Flavian dynasty the practice would die out. It was for panicking leaders, to remove imagined rivals after swift closet questioning – often based on trumped-up evidence. Informers, I regret to say, were often the filthy instruments of such private trials. I had never worked like that.

As we went to dinner, the procurator popped out of an office and signalled me. He had been lying in wait with Amicus. Helena went on ahead, while Hilaris and I held a hurried consultation with the torturer.

'Titus is just putting things away -' I caught Hilaris looking pale again as Amicus reported. 'I got the waiters' stories. They all match; it's nice and neat. Apparently, the two men you are holding run a helpful service. They deter troublemakers and sneak-thieves who might grab the takings. All the wine shops appreciate the extra security, and are happy to contribute modest sums to obtain it.'

Hilaris and I gazed at him in surprise.

'Well, that was today's silly story,' Amicus scoffed in a comfortable tone. 'Tomorrow I shall crank things up a bit. They think they've got away with it. When I reappear with the bag, they'll be ripe to tell me their life histories in ten volumes of fine poetry. Mind you, the barber stuck. I knew it. Bastards!' He then enquired anxiously, 'Is there any hurry?'

'Everything seems quiet currently,' Hilaris said, sounding cautious.

Amicus suddenly transferred his attention to me. 'Falco! Do you have a witness to any of the killings?'

I wondered why he asked. 'The murder of the Briton, probably. Do you want details?'

'No. I just like to warn the nasty fibbers that I can obtain corroboration.'

I was slightly shy of telling this professional I was using Chloris. Better for her sake, anyway, that I kept her name quiet.

Hilaris invited Amicus to dine with us. He refused gruffly. It seems torturers prefer not to socialise.

Tonight we had more guests than on other occasions; it had to be a buffet party rather than a formal dinner on couches. We spilled out from the dining room into the garden, with music from the Hilaris family's tibia-player and the Norbanus harpist. The tibia-player was excellent, he must have put in plenty of practice here in boring Britain; the harpist, presumably trained in Rome where there were more distractions, was simply adequate. The evening remained sedate. Anyone who hoped for half-naked gymnastic dancers hoped in vain.

Due to the plucking and tootling, conversation did not thrive. Norbanus himself hung around Maia as usual. However at one point he approached me rather deliberately; I was sitting with Helena, unfashionably conversing with my wife.

'I ought to have a word, Marcus Didius. About your sister -' I raised an eyebrow. His manner was open, friendly, even honest. He managed to avoid acting like a creep and although he was a businessman, clearly accustomed to his own way in most things, yet he was scrupulously polite over this. 'It cannot have escaped you that I enjoy Maia's company. But if my attentions offend you, then of course I shall withdraw.' (His sad smile, said Helena afterwards, was a delicate touch.)

I told Norbanus gruffly that my sister made her own decisions. He looked pleased, as if I had given him boarding rights. In fact I thought the only way she would see through him was if nobody interfered. Mind you, I had made that ridiculous assumption once before, over that swine Anacrites.

Norbanus Murena went back to my sister, who was staring across at me suspiciously. I watched him, keeping my face neutral; he was good looking, confident, and as the women kept saying, he seemed a nice man. I could see Maia was finding him welcome company. He was not being pushy. Perhaps this kind of courteous, well-heeled self-made man was just what she needed.

On his way around the gravel paths to the seat where Maia had placed herself, Norbanus had passed Popillius. They must have met before, the previous night when the lawyer first made himself known at the residence (when I was out, having my weak spots tested by darling Chloris). Now the two men exchanged brief nods. They did not speak. They looked like mere acquaintances.

Popillius was a typical off-duty lawyer. Socialising happily, he ignored the fact that his two clients were still incarcerated in this very house. He and Frontinus had chatted tonight as if their wrangle over Pyro and Splice had never occurred. By tomorrow Popillius would be back on the attack, while Frontinus would resist the lawyer's efforts as strongly as if he had never been tonight's genial host.

I hated that kind of hypocrisy. Helena said that in a province with a small social circle it was inevitable. She was justifying the system, though I could see she agreed with me. She had been brought up in a senatorial household, but since her father Camillus Verus had never sought public office, he had managed to avoid holding open house. Cash-starved and secluded, the Camilli kept their hospitality for family and friends.

'Life with your uncle and aunt may be comfortable,' I said, 'but I can't take to this constant diplomatic plate-pushing.'

Helena smiled – then showed sudden alarm as we were interrupted by a distant child yelling, 'Julia's got a bee!' We heard the sounds of other children scarpering. All but the teenagers ought to be in bed. I rose calmly and excused myself to investigate.

My elder daughter, deserted when the others ran off, was stark naked except for her little sandals as she crouched on her heels beside a pond. She had been in the pond at some stage. Her skin was cold and her dark curls were sticking together in wet clumps. I gulped, imagining the perils for a toddler who loved splashing about but who could not swim.

The bee, a large bumble, looked virtually dead. It was standing on the path, motionless, being stared at by my two-year-old from inches away. This was a fine clear night, with no need for lamps yet; I could see why the children had escaped from the nursery staff. I tried feeble remonstrations about water being off limits. Julia pointed her tiny finger and said firmly, 'Bee!'

'Yes, sweetheart. He's not feeling very well.' I squatted down obediently and took a look. His pollen sacs were bulging; he was exhausted by the heat.

Julia waved her fist at the insect, while I tried to remove her gently from stinging range. 'Poorly bee!' she shrieked.

Time to inculcate a sense of kindness in my child, who could be violent. I tried putting water on a folded leaf. The bee expressed some interest, yet it was too feeble to drink. I would have just left it here, for the gardeners to sweep up tomorrow; by then it would undoubtedly be dead. Julia leaned up against me happily, trusting me to rescue it from its predicament. I left her to hold the leaf gently near the bee's head, while I went back to the food tables. I looked around for Helena but she had vanished somewhere. I dipped an olive spoon in honey from the wine waiter's equipment bench, then returned to Julia.

As soon as I put the spoon near the bee, it responded. Julia and I watched enthralled as its long black proboscis unravelled and dipped into the honey. I held the spoon steady with one hand, keeping Julia under control in my other arm. To be feeding a bee did feel rather wonderful. Visibly reviving right before our eyes, it began to shake its heavy wings. We sat back. The bee crawled about slowly, testing out its legs; it fluttered once or twice. Then it suddenly took off and zoomed away in powerful flight, high over the garden.