Lindsey Davis - Shadows in Bronze

'Don't disturb Aemilius Rufus; it was you I came to see.'

I waited until she let my arm go before I turned back. 'Well? What about?

'It's hard to define.' The look of trouble in those fine, bright, wide-spaced eyes sobered me abruptly. 'I believe someone I am not supposed to know about is lurking round the villa Rustica-'

'What makes you sure? '

'Male voices talking after Marcellus is supposed to be in bed, glances among the servants-'

'Is it worrying you?' She shrugged. Knowing her, she was more annoyed at being misled. But it worried me. I had the afternoon free, so I offered immediately: 'Are you going back?

'I came with a steward who has errands for Marcellus-' 'Forget it. I'll take you.'

Just what she intended; I knew perfectly well.

We took the steward's mule, leaving a message that I would return it. I prefer my ladies to ride in front; young fruit insisted on sitting behind. The mule joggled, a situation I allowed because Helena had to cling on round my waist. Just after we turned into the Marcellus estate this scheme went awry. I could sense her growing restless so I was already reining in, but before I could lift her she skidded down the mule's flank in a swift rumple of white skirts around the longest legs in Campania – then she was sick, miserably, over a rail. -

Stricken with conscience I fell off the mule too. Among all his bells and leather fringes I hastily found a water gourd.

'Oh I hate you, Falco! You did that deliberately. '

I had never seen her look so ill. It frightened me. I sat the lass on a boulder and gave her the gourd to sip. 'You'll feel better quicker if you just stop arguing-'

'No I won't!' she managed to flash up at me, with an honest grin.

Cursing myself, I wet my neckerchief and wiped her hot face and throat. She had that drained, dry-mouthed, white- gilled expression I recognized from being a poor traveller myself. I crouched over her anxiously, while she sat with her head in her hands.

When her breathing grew more level and she looked up ruefully, I paid a boy from the vineyard a copper to lead the mule on ahead to the house.

'We can amble on foot when you feel more yourself? 'I'll try-'

‘No; just sit quiet!' She smiled wanly, and gave in.

She was still poorly. If I had been a softer man I would have wrapped my arms around her. I tried not to let myself imagine that I was, or that she wanted it.

‘Falco, stop looking like a little lost eider duck! Talk to me; tell me how you like living in Herculaneum?'

I sat back and obediently straightened my beak. 'I don't. It feels an unhappy house.'

'Rufus goes out too much; Fausta stays at home and mopes. Why did you go there anyway?'

‘To earn some cash. And Aemilia Fausta seems a possible key to finding Crispus.'

‘By seducing and spying – that's immoral!' she burst out.

'Seducing is a tiring way to do business, even for the safety of the state!'

‘When you seduced me,' Helena demanded waspishly, 'was that for the safety of the state?'

Like true friends we had the knack of hurting one another down to a fine art.

I answered her in a black tone. 'No.' Then I left her to think about it. She flushed uneasily. I changed the subject: ‘Aemilia Fausta knows about my work.'

‘Oh, admitting your status is part of your seedy charm!' Helena insulted me, rallying again. 'Are you friends with her handsome brother too?'

I gave her a rascally glint. 'Would Rufus be more susceptible to my soft lying eyes?'

She looked at me oddly then went on, 'Can't you see that Aemilius Rufus took you into his house to keep an eye on you?'

'What's his interest?'

‘To participate in reconciling the Emperor and Crispus himself- to help his career.'

'I thought he seemed evasive; yet his future looks bright enough-'

'He has lived too long away from Rome; he is very ambitious, but not well enough known.'

‘Why was he away?'

'Nero. Anyone so good-looking posed a threat to the Caesarly ego; it was either self-exile or-'

'A trip to see the arena lions at state expense? Why does he look like that?' I scoffed. 'Did his mother meet a Macedonian vase peddler behind a bush?'

'If it was his sister you'd be happy enough!'

I laughed briefly. 'If it was his sister she might be happier herself.'

Helena was still perched on her boulder but looked brighter. I rolled out on the ground, full length on my belly at her feet. I felt happy. Lying here in the sunshine, on good Vesuvius ploughland, with clear air in the lungs, someone pleasant to talk to, the Bay of Neapolis stretched away in a blue mist…

At Helena' silence I glanced up.

She had been overtaken by some mood of her own. She sat gazing out across the Bay, then she closed her eyes briefly, with an expression which was both pained and pleased at the same time.

It had nothing to do with my mission. She would have told me that.

Perhaps she was thinking about her handsome friend.

'It's growing hotter.' I hooked myself upright. 'I should get you indoors. Let's go.'

I started off too fast, because Helena had to slip her hand into mine to slow me down. I kept hold of her, whether she liked it or not, to cheer myself up.

It was hot, though pleasant walking. I was keen to march ahead and explore the villa, but in the country a man should always make time for a stroll with a lass. You never know when the demands of city life will provide another chance. You never know when the lass will agree.

We came through the vineyards where the half-ripe green bunches were already bending boughs. Our road doubled back. As we turned into the next slow climb upwards we caught sight of the villa. In the riding range on the terrace, a man was exercising two horses, turn and turn about.

‘Are those racers? Is there a trainer?'

‘Bryon – that's him.' She paused. The stables here might be worth exploring…'

I hopped up on a boundary rail, dinging to a fig tree in the corner of a field. The Senator's daughter, who had no sense of propriety, put one sandal on the rail then pulled herself up too, hanging on to me. We watched the trainer press the horse he was riding fast down the course, then slow, turn, spurt ahead and pelt hard along another length. I had no interest in racehorses, but it gave me an excuse to hold Helena steady…

We turned to each other at exactly the same time. At that range it was impossible to ignore how intensely we both remembered what had happened in the past. I released her, before staying so close became far too difficult. Then I leapt to the ground and helped Helena down too.

She lifted her chin defiantly. 'I suppose you threw the spoons in the sea?'

‘Certainly not! My father was an auctioneer; I know the price of spoons…' We were friends. Nothing could change it. Friends, allied by the love of intrigue; constantly arguing yet never quite as irritated with each other as we both professed. And the tension between us, both emotional and sexual, still felt decidedly permanent to me. 'Just now, what were you thinking of?' I ventured to ask.

Helena moved away from me quietly, shaking her head. 'Something I'm not sure about. Don't ask me,' was all she said.

By the time we reached the house, Helena was looking dreadful again. She normally enjoyed such sturdy good health that this troubled me as much as it plainly embarrassed her. I insisted on staying beside her until she was installed on a couch in a long colonnade, with a tray of hot borage tea.

While the small flurry which our arrival caused was settling down I acted the visitor. Helena sent away the slaves. I sat with her, supping from a little bowl which I held between a thumb and two fingers like anyone respectable. (If it's not too strong I quite like borage tea.)