We don't mingle," uttered Pa. I hold my soirees at my place in Rome; I keep myself to myself here. Lot of interlopers, you never know what class of person you might find you're dealing with." I said I could well see that a smuggler would not want to mix in with a pirate chief- and that was when I went to bed. The bed was as comfortable as promised, and I slept as soundly as any man who had been tormented and thrown into the sea to drown, before he endured ghastly family revelations and drank a lot of wine to blot out a horrendous day. A night's recovery time was all I needed. I was anxious to be on my way. I slept in longer than I meant, but still found the breakfast buffet [served by yet more slaves] before Pa put in an appearance. Gornia, an anxious type, was already up and packing a discreetly covered wagon. He took me up to Ostia. He dropped me close to my apartment, then drove on towards Rome. I walked swiftly home, only to find a note written on the back of the one Pa had sent Helena yesterday. Dear skiver, If you turn up, have gone to funeral. Necropolis at Rome Gate. I trust you caught a big one. HJ I washed in cold water, changed into new clothing and my second best boots, tried and failed to put a comb through my salted curls, then stood for a second beside Favonia's crib. My family were absent, but it helped me reconnect with them. I detoured via Privatus" house. My children were there, being looked after; I did not disturb them. Young Marius and Cloelia were in the peristyle garden; they had discovered how to fiddle with the Dionysus statue's waterworks. The wine god now performed a huge, arching pee at which they fell about in fits of giggles. Then they looked up, saw me, and threw themselves upon me with delight. Nux and Marius" young dog Argos, who were sleeping in a patch of shade, looked up, wagged lazy tails, and went back to sleeping.
Uncle Marcus! Everyone has been searching for you."
I'm in trouble, then."
Well if they kill you at the funeral," Cloelia consoled me, that will be convenient. Would you like red roses or white ones on your bier?"
You choose for me."
The double ones are my favourites."
I lost my sword," I told Marius. Does Petronius have a spare here?" My nephew was not supposed to know, but he did and he fetched it for me straight away. It was a basic weapon in a plain scabbard, but sat in the hand well and was perfectly sharpened. Buckling it on, in the familiar high military position under my right armpit, I felt better at once. Thanks, Marius. Kiss the girls for me."
We'll be their guardians," Cloelia assured me in her solemn way, if Mother and Aunt Helena make you fall on the sword." While Marius was fetching the sword she too had scampered off, to return with Petro's second-best toga so that at the funeral I could be properly clad, with my head veiled in its capacious folds. Nice children. I decided not to mention that their great-uncle was a pirate's associate and that their grandfather smuggled art.
Marcus Rubella may have tried to prevent the funeral of Theopompus from becoming a wild party on a beach; what he had achieved was a wild party at a necropolis. Since Rhodope had chosen to give her lover his send-off at the Rome Gate, this was about as public as it could be. When I arrived, the event had been in full flow since sunrise, and its fervour showed no sign of abating. Everyone who passed by on the main road to and from Ostia must have been aware of it. Rubella looked glum as he supervised a group of vigiles, who were attempting to divert the crowds.
No entry!"
You tell them, son." With a cheery wave to the tribune, I eased in past his traffic controls. Aiming for the noise, I made my way between the rows of columbaria. The necropolis was laid out like a small town of miniature houses for the dead. They were solidly brick-built, many with pitched roofs. Some had their doors standing open; most had a main room, with niches all around the walls at two levels, for receiving urns. One wide, travertine paved street ran parallel to the main road from Rome; it was full of people, all heading for the Theopompus send-off.
Stop right there!" A fist hit my chest. Is that my toga?"
Oh, damn. I thought I hid that blob of sauce you copped last time you wore it." Petronius Longus was a sharp-eyed bastard, and he was growling.
