Lindsey Davis - A dying light in Corduba

We had edged around my guilt and her withdrawal. Helena Justina held herself against me for a moment, her soft cheek pressed to my stubbled one, then she took my arm, ready to walk with me to the bath-house. 'Welcome home,' she whispered, and I knew she meant it now.

The bath-house at the villa was designed for hardy old republicans. I won't say it was crude, but if anyone hankered for the unluxurious days of dark, narrow bathing places with mere slits for windows, this was ideal. You undressed in the cold room. Unguents were stored on a shelf in the warm room, which was certainly not very warm at night; you got up a sweat by vigorously shaking an oil jar to try to dislodge the congealed contents.

A single stoker kept the fire alight and brought water in buckets. He had gone for his supper but was summoned back. Since the bath was reserved for Optatus, Helena and myself, plus any visitors, he seemed glad of a rare chance to show off his skills. We needed him this evening. The promised hot water had been used up by someone else.

'That's just typical!' Helena stormed moodily. 'I've had three days of this, Marcus, and I'm ready to scream.'

I was stripping, very slowly. I hung my foul togs on my favourite hook, tossing aside a blue tunic that had been left by some previous bather. Nobody was in evidence now, which was just as well. Helena insisted on kneeling to unstrap my boots for me. I helped her upright, then kept hold of her. 'What's the matter, fruit?'

She took a deep breath. 'I have about four different events to relate; I've been trying to keep them neatly arranged in my mind -'

'You're so organised!' I threw back my head, smiling at the anticipated luxury of listening to Helena. 'A lot has been happening? You mean Constans?'

'Oh…' Helena closed her eyes. The young man's death had affected her profoundly. 'Oh Marcus, I was with his sister and Aelia Annaea when the news was brought; I feel I'm part of it.'

'But you said it was an accident. Truly?'

'It had to be. I told you; he was alone. It was such a shock. Everyone is very distressed. His sister is so young. I have not seen his grandparents, but we've all been imagining how distraught they must be -' She stopped, and suddenly became weepy again. Helena rarely gave way like that.

'Start from the beginning,' I said, stroking her neck.

Taking a lamp, we walked through a heavy door into the so-called warm room. This part of the bath-house was deadened to sound by the thickness of its walls, though somewhere at the far end of the hotter room I could hear vague shovelling sounds as the slave began replenishing the fire; the rattling and bumping noises travelled through the floor. Helena Justina rested on the low ledge against one wall as I worried a flask to extract a few dribbles of oil. She had presumably bathed once today, so she retained her undertunic modestly and forwent the full cleansing procedure.

She linked her hands and began rather formally: The first thing, Marcus, was that I had a letter from home – from my brother Justinus.'

'The lad! How is he?'

'Still in love with his actress.'

'It's just a crush.'

'So it's dangerous! Well, he's been working hard on Aelianus anyway, which he complains cost him a lot of drinks. Aelianus is feeling terribly guilty; his friend Cornelius, the one who wrote the famous secret dispatch, has written from Athens telling Aelianus not to talk about it to anyone called Quinctius.'

'But Aelianus had already done that?'

'Apparently.'

'He told me he fell out with Quadratus when your father was being cheated over the oil pressing.'

'Well, quarrels don't last among lads. But Aelianus now says he and Quadratus did meet in Rome, though it wasn't a success. Their row in Baetica had soured the friendship so by the time of that dinner it had cooled permanently.' 'Too late!'

'I'm afraid so. Justinus has found out that Aelianus has been bottling up a disaster. Before he went to the Palace, he had had the report with him at the Quinctius house. He left it with his cloak, and when he collected it the seal looked different. He picked it open again – as he confessed to you, he had actually read it once – the second time the letter had been altered to give a quite different assessment of how serious the cartel was.'

I nodded. 'So either Quadratus or his father Attractus deliberately tried to underplay the situation. Did Aelianus challenge his pal?'

'Yes, and that was when they quarrelled again. Then Aelianus was frightened that he couldn't alter the scroll any more without making a thorough mess of it, so he just handed it in to Anacrites and hoped everything would be all right.' Helena sucked her lip. 'I have strong views on Quadratus – which I'll come to next!'

'How has he been annoying you?'

'He'll annoy you too, because we've been landed here with the dreadful bull-necked, spoiled-brat, insensitive rich girls' delight "Tiberius" himself.'

'Here?

'It's your fault.'

'Naturally!' I know my place. Helena was clearly furious; I kept hold of the oil flask in case she let fly with it. 'Even though I was a hundred miles away?'

'Afraid so.' She had the grace to grin at me. I put down the oil flask. Helena Justina had a smile that could freeze all my capillaries. Our eyes met, a glance that was rich with feeling and memory. Only friends can exchange so much, so rapidly. 'It was because of your horse, Prancer.'

'Prancer belongs to Annaeus Maximus.'

'And you lent him to Quadratus and Constans. Quadratus brought him back.'

'I told him not to.'

'Well, isn't that just like him?' Her voice grated. 'And now the irritating creature has come to stay here, where everyone loathes him, and he's using all the bath water! – If I challenge him about it he will apologise so politely I'll want to hit him with an oven hook. I can't prove that he does it deliberately, but he makes life a trial from morning to night for everyone around him.'

I tutted. 'He has to be a villain. I'll prove it yet! – But Helena, my heart, you still haven't told me: why has this social woodlouse become our guest?'

'Your horse threw him. He has hurt his back.'

'I won't hear another word against Prancer: the horse has taste!' I cried.

Growing too cold, we both stepped into wooden-soled clogs and braved the steam of the hot room. Helena took a bronze strigil and started scraping me down while I braced my aching limbs against her steady strokes. I could take as much of that as she was prepared to indulge me with, especially now that her mood had softened up.

'So Quadratus is bedridden?'

No such luck. He can shuffle about. Everywhere Optatus and I try to go, he appears, making himself agreeable.'

'That's disgusting!'

'He decided it was courteous to take an interest in my pregnancy. He keeps asking questions I don't want to think about. He's worse than my mother.'

'The man's a complete lout. Worse than a girl's mother? That's as low as he can get! By the way, how is your pregnancy?'

'Don't bother, Falco. When you try to take an interest, I know it's all fake.'

'You know I'm a fake you can trust.'

'You're the fake I'm stuck with, anyway…'

She looked tired. I pried the curved strigil from her hand and took over ridding myself of sweat, oil and filth. Then we both sank on to the wooden bench to endure what else we could of the heat. Helena collected the damp strands of her hair and wound them into a clump, holding the weight off the back of her neck.

'Marius Optatus could go out in the fields and olive groves, but I've been stuck with our unwanted guest. I had to talk to him. I had to listen too – unendingly. He is a man. He expects to hold the floor. What he has to say is banal, humourless and predictable. He expects admiration in inverse proportion to content, of course.' I was chortling. I loved to hear Helena condemning somebody else.