Lindsey Davis - Last Act In Palmyra

Philadelphia was enclosed by steep-sided hills, seven in number, though far more parched than the founding hills of Rome. There was a well-placed precipitous citadel, with the town spilling outwards and downwards on to a broad valley floor where a stream wandered attractively, doing away with any obvious need for cisterns, I was glad to see. We made camp, and sat down in our tents for what I gathered was likely to be a long wait while Chremes tried to negotiate terms for performing a play.

We had now entered Roman Syria. On our original journey between Petra and Bostra I had been working through the company play box, but on the way here to the Decapolis I had been able to give more attention to our surroundings. The road from Bostra to Philadelphia was supposed to be a good one. That meant a lot of people used it: not the same thing.

To be a travelling theatre group was not easy in these parts. The country people hated us because they identified us with the Greekified towns where we played, yet the townsfolk all thought we were uncivilised nomads because we travelled on; you have to beware of exhaustion when you are unused to desert conditions. I was all ready for a long snooze, but as I drowsed on the verge of it, I heard Helena call out 'Hello there!' to a passer-by.

I might have taken no notice, had not the masculine voice that answered her been laden with self-satisfaction. It was a handsome rich-toned tenor with seductive modulations, and I knew to whom it belonged: Philocrates, who thought himself the idol of all the girls.

'Well, hello!' he responded, evidently overjoyed to find he had attracted the attention of my highly superior bloom. Men didn't need an exploratory chat with her banker before they found Helena Justina worth talking to.

I stayed put. But I had sat up.

From my dim hiding place I heard him tramp closer, the smart leather boots that always showed off his manly calves crunching on the stony ground. Footwear was his one extravagance, though he wore the rest of his threadbare outfit as if he were in regal robes. (Actually, Philocrates wore all his clothes like a man who was just about to shrug them off for indecent purposes.) From a theatre seat he was extravagantly good-looking; stupid to pretend otherwise. But he turned into a ripe damson if you peered into the punnet closely: too soft, and browning under the skin. Also, though his physique was all in proportion, he was extremely small. I could look right over his neatly combed locks, and most of his scenes with Phrygia had to be played with her sitting down.

I imagined him striking a pose in front of Helena – and tried not to imagine Helena being impressed by the haughty good looks.

'May I join you?' He didn't mess about.

'Of course.' I was all set to thunder out and defend her, though Helena seemed to be making a brave effort to cope. I could hear from her voice that she was smiling, a sleepy, happy smile. Then I heard Philocrates stretching out at her feet, where instead of looking like a smug dwarf he would simply look well honed.

'What's a beautiful woman like you doing here all on her own?' Dear gods, his chat line was so old it was positively rancid. Next thing he would be flaring his nostrils and asking her if she would like to see his war wounds.

'I'm enjoying this lovely day,' replied Helena, with more serenity than she had ever shown with me when I first tried getting to know her. She used to swat me like a hornet on a honey-jar.

'What are you reading, Helena?'

'Plato.' It put a quick stop to the intellectual discussion.

'Well, well!' said Philocrates. This seemed to be his pause-filler.

'Well, well,' echoed Helena placidly. She could be very unhelpful to men who were trying to impress her.

'That's a beautiful dress.' She was in white. White had never suited Helena; I repeatedly told her so.

'Thank you,' she answered modestly.

'I'll bet you look even better with it off…' Mars blast his balls! Wide awake now, I was expecting my young lady to call out to me for protection.

'It's a paradox of science,' stated Helena Justina calmly, 'but when the weather gets as hot as this, people are more comfortable covered up.'

'Fascinating!' Philocrates knew how to sound as if he meant it, though somehow I thought science was not his strong point. 'I've been noticing you. You're an interesting woman.' Helena was more interesting than this facile bastard knew, but if he started to investigate her finer qualities he would be sent on his way with my boot. 'What's your star sign?' he mused, one of those pea-brained types who drought astrology was the straight route to a quick seduction. 'A Leo, I should say…'

Jupiter! I hadn't used 'What's your horoscope?' since I was eleven. He ought to have guessed Virgo; that would always get them giggling, after which you could cruise home.

'Virgo,' stated Helena herself crisply, which should put a blight on astrology.

'You surprise me!' She surprised me too. I had been thinking Helena's birthday was in October, and was mentally making up jokes about Librans weighing up trouble. Trouble was what I would be in if I didn't learn the correct date.

'Oh I doubt if I could surprise you with much, Philocrates!' she answered. The annoying wench must think I was asleep. She was playing up to him as if I didn't exist at all, let alone lying behind a tent wall growing furious, barely a stride away.

Philocrates had missed her irony. He laughed gaily. 'Really? In my experience, girls who appear terribly serious and seem like vestal virgins can be a lot of fun!'

'Have you had fun with a lot of girls, Philocrates?' asked Helena innocently.

'Let's say, a lot of girls have had fun with me!'

'That must be very gratifying for you,' Helena murmured. Anyone who knew her well could hear her thinking, Probably not so much fun for them!

'I've learned a few tricks with the pleasure pipe.' Two more words, and I would spring from the tent and tie up his pleasure pipe in a very tight Hercules knot.

'If that's an offer, I'm flattered, naturally.' Helena was smiling, I could tell. 'Apart from the fact that I couldn't possibly live up to your sophisticated standards, I'm afraid I have other commitments.'

'Are you married?' he shot in.

Helena loathed that question. Her voice acquired bite. 'Would that be a bonus? Deceiving husbands must be so amusing… I was married once.'

'Is your husband dead?'

'I divorced him.' He was dead now in fact, but Helena Justina never referred to it.

'Hard-hearted girl! What was the fellow's crime?'

Helena's worst insults were always delivered in cool tone. 'Oh he was just a normal arrogant male – deficient in morals, incapable of devotion, insensitive to a wife who had the good manners to be honest.'

Philocrates passed it over as a reasonable comment. 'And now you're available?'

'Now I live with someone else.'

'Well, well…' I heard him shifting his ground again. 'So where is the happy scribbler?'

'Probably up a date-palm writing a play. He takes his work very seriously.' Helena knew I had never done that, whatever job I was pretending to hold down. However, I did have an idea for a completely new play of my own. I had not discussed it with Helena; she must have noticed me thinking and guessed.

Philocrates sneered. 'Pity his skill doesn't match his dedication!' What a bastard. I made a note to write him out of at least three scenes in my next adaptation. 'I'm intrigued. What can this Falco have to offer a smart and intelligent girl like you?'

'Marcus Didius has wonderful qualities.'

'An amateur author who looks as if he's been dragged. through a thicket by a wild mule? The man's haircut should be an indictable offence!'

'Some girls like raffish charm, Philocrates… He's entertaining and affectionate,' Helena rebuked him. 'He tells the truth. He doesn't make promises unless he can keep them, though sometimes he keeps promises he never even made. What I like most,' she added, 'is his loyalty.'