I watched the day go. I was suffering belated weariness after sailing home. And I was uneasy. Acting as Procurator of Poultry had taken over my life. A major festival of Juno Moneta fell tomorrow (nagged the calendar). My place would be there. Even attending this junket would be a first for me, let alone serving as nursemaid to a set of geese. The geese were to exhibit their annual tasteless triumphalism over a sample of supposedly guilty watchdogs, poor stray curs who would be rounded up and ritually crucified. It was not my idea of a genteel nod to history.
Today, however, I was loafing at home, left in charge of young Julia while Helena dodged off somewhere. When, like a pompous head of household checking up on his wife’s social life, I asked for details, she just looked at me with a guileless expression that meant she was being devious. Whatever it was, she took Nux as a chaperon, plus enough bread rolls for a good lunch, her private note-tablet and stylus, and several sponges; then I spotted her hiding my best hammer under her cloak. I doubted she was visiting a girlfriend to discuss embroidery designs.
“Helena, is it possible, companion of my heart, that you are hiding something from me?”
“You do not want to know, darling!” Helena assured me. “Enjoy your day.” Her parting tone was kindly and brave, like that of a farmer who has delivered his favorite horse to the butcher with a full nosebag.
I would have spent my time in men’s activities-Forum, baths, shops, tracing Petronius to whichever wine bar he had chosen that day for his break. Having Julia with me hampered that. But I did visit Pa’ s warehouse at the Saepta Julia in order to broach Maia’s money problems; he was out. Even Petro had made himself invisible, though his comrades at the patrol house reckoned he was working.
“Sounds too diligent.”
“Maturity comes to everyone, Falco.”
“If that’s happened to Lucius Petronius, he needs a surgeon right away!”
“No, somebody just happened to mention lettuce in his hearing-not thinking about his wife’s lover, of course.”
“Oh no! He went off in a sulk?”
“Touchy tyke.”
Still carrying the baby, I went to the Forum anyway. Julia loved the crowds. The sleazier they were, the more she gurgled appreciatively. My family would say, at least there were no doubts about her fatherhood.
At the back of the Temple of Castor was the bathhouse I frequented. I took a risk. Glaucus, the austere proprietor, had a strict entrance policy. His establishment was intended to be a haunt for serious professional men. He banned women. Nor did he tolerate pretty boys or the pederasts who lusted after them. To my knowledge, nobody had ever been mad enough to turn up with a one-year-old baby before. We got past the doorkeeper on the wings of sheer novelty. Brazen daring carried me through the changing room, and I was heading for the gymnasium when I heard the rasp of Glaucus being sarcastic to some unfortunate he was training with weights; I chickened out and decided to keep fit another day.
I slunk through the baths as fast as I could, then looked in on the masseur, a gigantic bully from Tarsus with legendary manipulative powers. He was slapping about Helena Justina’s father. I took Julia in and we sat on the side bench where the next customer was supposed to wait in terror. The masseur glared at the baby, but was too nonplussed to comment.
I grinned as I inspected Decimus. “Thanks for dinner the other night. You managed to scrub off the ink, I see!”
“The child developed a lot while you were away. You might have warned me.”
“She learned to stand on the ship. She was beside the rail in brisk weather when she first tried it. I could have saved myself years of trouble by letting her tumble over the side-but I knew she was your favorite grandchild.” She was also his only one.
“So you made a quick grab?” Losing Julia would truly have broken his heart. I made another quick move, as Julia picked up a water scoop and prepared to hurl it at the huge, sweating masseur. The senator chortled, good going since he was already contorted in a hideous grimace under a barrage of slaps between the shoulders. I decided that the masseur believed in tribal individualism rather than senate-led democracy. He was certainly taking out his personal aggression on the Camillus physique.
Decimus and I were cronies here, exchanging secrets. “Has Helena Justina said anything to you about some venture into property?”
“Nobody tells me anything,” her noble father complained. “They just keep me to lie on one of the eating couches to prevent the dining room looking empty. What’s she buying?” he asked nervously.
“Could be a house.”
“She may allow me to hear about it, once she has a whole row of them.” He paused while the man from Tarsus casually attempted to wrench his left arm from its socket. “I told Aulus to see you today.”
“About his corn-ear friends again? I thought he had accepted their story-that the man he found dead was just an unlucky victim of a wife in a bad mood?”
