Lindsey Davis: Shadows in Bronze

I leaned in the doorway like a professional, looking mean and hard. She saw me at once. Helena had a strong face, which took its softness from whatever she was feeling. Whenever that sweet face lit with relief, simply at seeing me walk into a room alive, the mean, hard look became difficult to sustain.

I went on helping the doorframe to keep itself upright, trying to find the sort of tasteless ribaldry she would expect. She spotted the bandages.

'Trust you,' she said, 'to turn up looking bloodstained when there's someone else's doctor to give you a free salve!'

I shook my head slightly, to say I was just scratched. And her eyes answered that whatever I had done to her, she was glad I was here.

Most of my work has to be done alone, but it would be good to know that when a job was over, I could come home to someone who would scoff at me heartily if I showed any tendency to boast. Someone who would actually miss me if I failed to make it home.

Remaining in the room while a lady was examined was obviously indelicate. Luckily the doctor was leaving. I blocked his path.

'The name is Didius Falco. I live off the Via Ostiana, above the Eagle Laundry in Fountain Court.' He looked puzzled. I said, 'Send your bill for professional services to me.'

Within the room, the women of the 'house fell suddenly still. They all looked at Helena. Helena was looking steadily at me.

The doctor was Egyptian in origin. He had a square head, with eyebrows that met in the centre above a straight, strong nose. He looked distinctive, but was very slow. 'I understood that the Senator-'

'The Senator,' I explained with forbearance, 'is the father of this lady. He gave her life, nourishment, education, and the good humour that smiles in her honey-brown eyes. But on this occasion, I will pay your bill.'

'But why-'

'Think about it,' I said gently.

I took him by the elbow and propelled him from the room. Think about it. No, don't think. The child was yours. Ours. Think. Think about that.

I held open the door. Amidst a flutter of female consternation, Julia Justa somehow drained the room of its irrelevant occupants. I was aware of hurried movement behind me; then the door closed.

Silence. Helena Justina, all eyes. Helena and me.

'Marcus… I was not sure if you would come again.'

I tipped my chin, in a travesty of my debonair normal self. 'I told you, fruit, just stay where I can find you, and I'll always come back… Just promise me,' I said quietly. 'Promise me, Helena, that the next time you will tell me.'

In this silence now were all the world's pain and grit Helena's eyes were finally filling with her unshed tears.

'I was working,' I went on carefully. 'I had a lot of things to think about. But I want it understood, Helena – if I had known you needed me, I would have dropped everything-'

'I know!' she said. 'I knew that. Of course.'

That was it then. Really I had known the reason all along.

'I thought,' she began after a moment, with her voice little more than a whisper so I knew she was almost unable to go on. 'I thought there would be plenty of time-'

'Oh my love!'

She was reaching for me even before I began to move. In three strides I had crossed the room. I set one foot on the step, twisting onto the high bed, then at last Helena was locked in my arms, so tight I could hardly feel the deep despairing sobs she so badly needed to release. When I finally loosened my grip to cradle her more kindly, Helena's hand spread protectively on me, where I was hurt. Neither of us spoke, but we both knew. Where her face was pressed to my scratchy cheek most of the tears were hers, but some were my own.