Lindsey Davis - The Iron Hand of Mars

I grinned at her. 'I love you when you're embarrassed!'

'Oh shut up. I'll take care of Augustinilla,' she assured me. 'You have enough to do. Justinus told me about your mission.'

I sat on the bed, cursing morosely. With one of Victorina's badly brought-up brats on hand, I would certainly not be staying around the house. Helena, of course, would be at home, like a decent Roman matron. Even my lady's wild flights of freedom would have to be constricted inside a military fort.

Helena squashed in beside me while she swapped my tunic for her own. As she pulled her gown over her head, I fondled her in a desultory way.

'Talking to you is like interviewing a centipede for a job as a masseur…' Her head popped out. 'How's your mission?' she enquired, checking up on me.

'I've made some progress.' It was my turn to start dressing and Helena's to make overtures, but she failed to take up the opportunity, even though I was repossessing my tunic as languidly as possible. Evidently I had had my fun. The passion which Augustinilla had interrupted would not be resumed today.

'How much progress, Marcus? Solved anything?'

'No. Just acquired new tasks – tracing a missing commander no one even knew about…'

'This ought to be an ideal location for tracking down suspects – a fort, I mean. You have a closed community.'

I laughed bitterly. 'Oh yes! Only an enclosed community of twelve thousand men! He's offended his whole legion, not to mention having a hostile wife, an interfering mistress, numerous creditors, people in the local community-'

'What people?' Helena demanded.

'He's been trying to trace the rebel I'm pursuing myself, for one thing.' She didn't ask for details about Civil. Justinus must have filled her in last night. 'And he was apparently involved in wrangles over some military franchises.'

"That sounds like something that could easily have gone wrong if he mishandled it. Which franchises?' she asked curiously.

'Not sure. Well, pottery, for one thing.'

'Pottery?'

'Red tableware presumably.'

'For the army? Is there a lot at stake?'

'Think about it. In every legion six thousand rankers all needing cereal bowls and beakers, as well as cooking pots and serving platters for each ten-man tent. On top of that, full formal dinner services for the centurions and officers, plus the gods know what for the provincial governor's regal establishment. The legions reckon to do themselves nicely. Nothing will suffice for the army but the best-quality gloss. Samianware is strong, but it does break with rough handling, so there will always be repeat orders.'

'Does it have to be brought all the way from Italy or Gaul?'

'No. I hear there is a local industry.'

She seemed to change tack. 'Did you find your mother's comport?'

'Was it a comport she wanted?' I asked, innocently.

'You didn't buy one!'

'You guessed.'

'I bet you never even looked!'

'I looked all right. They were too expensive. Ma would never have wanted me to spend so much.'

'Marcus, you're dreadful! If there's a local factory,' Helena decided, 'you'd better take me to buy one for her. Then while I'm choosing your present, you can look around for clues.'

Helena Justina never wasted time. Left to my own devices I could have frittered away half a week helping her brother with his formal enquiry into the soldier's death. Instead, Justinus was on his own. I did manage to speak to him briefly on another subject, though, asking him to have the pedlar found and put in a holding cell.

'What has he done?'

'Leave that blank in the warrant. I just need ready access. It's for what he's going to do.'

By then Helena had enquired where the best ceramics in Moguntiacum were to be had, and almost before I had managed to snatch breakfast I found myself escorting her sedan chair out of the fort. I did not entirely object. I still had to mention to Justinus that my niece had destroyed his wine crater, and ways of explaining the disaster were slow to suggest themselves.

Helena and I left the fort in the late morning. Autumn was making its presence felt: a chill still freshened the air several hours after dawn, and moisture clung to the sere grasses along the roadside. Spiders' webs were everywhere, making me blink whenever my horse passed under low branches. Helena looked out of her sedan chair laughing, only to brush away filaments that caught in her own eyelashes. Well, it was an excuse to stop, so I could help.

The pottery quarter at Moguntiacum was a lesser affair than the vast compound Xanthus and I had visited at Lugdunum. There were clear signs that the German enterprise was struggling to compete against its rivals in Gaul, who had backup from the original factory at Arretinum to lend them extra clout. Here the craftsmen were unsupported by the parent industry. Their goods on display were just as fine quality, yet the potters seemed surprised to see customers. The biggest workshop was actually boarded up.

We found one nearby that was open. It was owned by a certain Julius Mordanticus. Many provincial Celts adopt aristocratic names like Julius or Claudius. After all, if you are trying to advance yourself, who chooses to sound like a cheap artisan? Hardly a second-generation Romanised tribesman anywhere in the whole Empire answers to Didius, apart from one or two youngsters with extremely pretty mothers who live in towns which my elder brother Festus once passed through.

Helena had soon bought an impressive dish for Mother – at a price which made me wince only slightly, moreover. She then made friends with the potter, explained that she was visiting her brother the tribune, and soon led the conversation round to the legions in general. She was refined, gracious – and deeply interested in his livelihood. The potter thought she was wonderful. So did I, but I fought it back. Once I had paid for his dish, I leaned against a wall, feeling surplus.

'I expect you do a lot of trade with the fort,' Helena said.

'Not as much as we'd like these days!' The potter was short, with a wide, pale face. When he talked he hardly moved the muscles of his mouth, which gave him a wooden appearance, but his eyes were intelligent. His remark to Helena had been forced out by strong feelings – his normal nature seemed more cautious. He wanted to let the military subject drop.

I hauled myself away from the wall as Helena chatted on. 'I confess I didn't know saurian ceramics were made in Germany. Is your speciality confined to Moguntiacum, or does it go further afield, among the Treveri?'

'The whole area from Augusta Treverorum to the river produces samianware.'

'I should think you do well?' she suggested.

'A bit of a slump lately.'

'Yes, we were looking at your colleague's stall – the one that's boarded up, belonging to Julius Bruccius. Is that due to the depression, or is he off on an autumn holiday?'

'Bruccius? A business trip.' A shadow crossed his face.

I had a nasty premonition as I interposed: 'Would that have been to Lugdunum by any chance?'

Helena Justina immediately retired from the debate and seated herself quietly. The potter, too, had noticed my tone. 'I came through Lugdunum on my way out to Germany,' I explained to him levelly. I breathed slowly, screwing my mouth. 'Would Bruccius be a thickset man in his forties, travelling with a younger fellow who has red hair and a fine crop of warts?'

'His nephew. Sounds as if you saw them somewhere along the way.'

Julius Mordanticus already looked worried. His friends' overdue return must have prepared him for bad tidings, but possibly not as bad as this. I kept it brief. When I told him about the quarrel I had witnessed at Lugdunum, then how I had later found the two bodies, he cried out in protest and covered his face.