Lindsey Davis - Shadows in Bronze

When I woke up she had gone indoors without telling me. Someone had fastened a flower at a ludicrous angle in the straps of my left boot.

I stomped in and found her.

'Lady, you're impossible!' I dropped the flower in her lap. 'The only thing this commission has to recommend it is I can forget about giving lectures on diatonic scales.'

'You give lectures on everything. Would you rather be in Herculaneum, teaching the harp?'

'No. I'd rather be here protecting you – from yourself, as usual!'

'Oh, stop harassing me, Falco,' she grumbled cheerfully. I grinned at her. This was wonderful: my favourite work.

I sat down a few feet away, where I arranged my expression to appear suitably diffident and was all set to fend off marauders if any were on the prowl that afternoon.

The one advantage being a harp teacher did have was that in order to demonstrate fingering you could position yourself right alongside the young lady who was employing you, and put both arms round her. I would miss that.

Probably.

The Bay Of Neapolis

July

But for one flaw the Villa Marcella could be recommended as a holiday spot. It was well appointed, had the best views in the Empire, and if you had the right connections it was free. All a visitor had to do was forget he was sharing these elegant acres with a calculated killer; although in that respect the villa was no worse than any two-as dosshouse on this flea-ridden shore, where the clientele were liable to knife you as you slept.

I had no intention of letting Barnabas stay on the loose. On the first day I went to the stables while Helena and the Consul were lunching safely among their platoon of slaves. But Bryon made no secret of it: 'He's gone off somewhere.'

A glance into the palatial hayloft confirmed this: the freedman's den looked untouched, down to the olive stones drying up on last night's dinner plate. But his cloak had been lifted from its peg.

'Where was he heading?

'No idea. But he'll be back. What else can he do?'

'Something dangerous!' I exclaimed, with more force than I meant.

I spent that second night on a balcony seat outside Helena's room. I had not forewarned her, but a maid brought me a pillow; Helena knew.

We shared breakfast on the balcony, like relatives staying in the country; very odd. Then I tackled the stable again.

This time Bryon met me in the yard, looking concerned. 'He never came in, Falco; that's unusual.'

I cursed. ‘Then he's skipped!'

The trainer shook his head. 'Not him. Look, I'm not daft. First he's here, but nobody is supposed to know. Then you come; now I reckon he's desperate-'

‘Oh he is! I need the truth, Bryon-'

‘Wait it out then. He'll be back.'

'He paid you to say that? You're protecting him?'

‘Why should I? I was born here; I thought I was one of the family. My mistake! I was sold overnight. Then they bought me back, but only for the horses. A double shock, and not a word said to me about it either time. Oh, I always got on all right with him,' Bryon declared. 'But things will never be the same again. So believe me, he'll turn up.'

'You mean because he needs the old man?

Bryon smiled grimly. ‘No. Because of how badly the old man needs him!'

He would not explain.

He did come back. And I found him. But a lot happened…

Helena Justina took the air that morning, accompanying the lad who renewed the wreath of flowers on the berm at the estate boundary. I had escorted them. Then two donkeys hove into view bearing Petronius Longus, Arria Silvia, and a basket which I could see was stuffed with picnic things: a prearranged rendezvous.

Petronius had been longing to take me drinking ever since we arrived. This was his opportunity. He must have imagined a holiday carnival would in some way help me.

I was annoyed. 'Don't be ridiculous! I'm tracking down a murderer; he could turn up any time. How can I go gadding up the mountain-'

‘Don't be so stuffy!' Helena chaffed. 'I'm going, so you have to.' Before I could argue further she had sent the boy home, cajoled me onto a donkey, and hopped up behind me. She held onto my belt. I held onto my temper, just.

It was a still, hazy day with that vapoury, innocuous look which on the Campania coast means intense heat later. Petronius picked our route. My donkey was the awkward one, which increased the mood.

We rode up past the rich black ploughland on the lower slopes, then through the thriving vineyards which in those days covered the mountain almost to its summit, making Bacchus its natural patron god. Wild broom was still flowering as our way snaked higher and higher into the rarified air. Vesuvius then was much more majestic than now. It was twice the size, for one thing – a quiet, luxurious, richly farmed mountain, though there were ancient secret places on the peak where only hunters went.

Petronius Longus stopped for a tasting at a wayside wineseller's. I did not feel like drinking. I said I had always wanted to go up to see the gorges at the top of the mountain where Spartacus the rebel slave had held out against a consular army and nearly brought down the state; I too was in a fair old mood for bringing down the state.

Helena came with me.

We rode as far as the donkey could easily travel, way up among the tangled brushwood which I knew was frequented by wild boar. We both dismounted, tethered Ned, then set off to cover the final stint to the top. It was rough going; Helena stopped.

‘Too strenuous for you?'

‘I'm struggling – You go on; I'll wait with the donkey.' She went back. I went on. I thought I wanted to be by myself; but I felt lonely as soon as she left.

I reached the summit quickly, had a look round, decided the historical research had not been worth the effort, and scrambled back down to Helena.

She had spread out a cloak and was sitting there with her sandals unstrapped, lost in thought. When she glanced round I deliberately let her see me making an inventory. She was wearing a pale-green gown which showed off the fact she was well worth showing off. Her hair was parted and twisted the way I had once liked it, above simple gold ear-rings. If she coloured her face it was subtle enough not to show. A pity I could not convince myself she had planned this neat effect for me.

‘Did you reach the top? What was it like?'

'Oh, a cone-shaped peak with a huge rocky depression, and great fissures full of wild vines. That must have been how the rebel army made their escape when Crassus evicted them-'

‘Is Spartacus a hero of yours?'

'Anyone who fights the Establishment is a hero of mine.' None of this was the point at issue so I sounded terse. 'Well, what is this merry jaunt about?'

‘A chance to speak to you privately-'

'Barnabas?'

'Yes and no. I met him yesterday,' Helena confessed, her restraint admonishing my harshness. 'It was perfectly civilized; we sat in the garden, and I had honey cakes. He wanted to see me. He has no money, for one thing-'

That angered me. 'You were divorced from his patron. He has no right to sponge off you!'

'No,' she said, after an odd pause.

'You never gave him cash? I accused.

'No.' I waited. 'The situation is complicated,' she told me, still in that washed-out voice; I continued to stare her out. ‘But I may be short of funds myself-'

I could not envisage Helena in financial straits. She had inherited land from a female relation, then after her divorce her father had given her part of the dowry her ex-husband had returned. Pertinax himself had bequeathed her a small fortune in precious spice. So she was richer than most women, and Helena Justina was not the type to squander it on tiaras or to give away thousands to some seedy religious sect.