You'll have to be careful," I warned him. What if the Soli group have already noticed you? You only live about two doors down. You've been sauntering right past their place almost every day." I'll take the night watch then," he volunteered. As a father of small children, that suited me. I could be telling bedtime stories, while Petro endured the drunks and caterwauling whores. We started straight away, and observed the place for the rest of the week. Lygon, a relaxed lover with a callous attitude, hardly ever bothered to visit his drab ladyfriend, though I spotted him once and Petro reported another sighting two nights later. Pullia was always there. My worst problem was avoiding her boy, the seven-year-old Zeno. He played in the street, looking bored. He had no toys, but threw stones, stared at passers-by, and kicked his sandals on the kerbstones. Pullia rarely went out, but sometimes she sent him on errands; at mealtimes she would call him indoors, shouting his name abrasively. He was no worse treated than some of my elder sisters" children, but his way of life meant there was a strong chance he would notice one of us, while we were lurking across the street on observation. He seemed an intelligent child, who would probably remember us. Someone did eventually spot me, though the way it happened was unexpected. It was my watch. Helena, with Favonia in her arms, was just bringing me a lunch basket. I had stationed myself almost opposite the old gatehouse. There was an empty block, perhaps earmarked to be an overflow forum. Sometimes a mad old woman brought crumbs to feed the birds, but they were a standoffish flock and she shuffled around keeping well away from me. There were two houses on the other side of the street where the occupants kept looking out as if they thought I was a prospective burglar. At least when they saw Helena with me, they could comfort themselves that I must just be dawdling in the hope of an adulterous liaison. It was a good excuse for us to cuddle in public, always a cheap thrill. Meanwhile Sosia Favonia practised toddling. The Ostians were not great humorists and disapproved of us canoodling. Fortunately our curly-haired child looked so sweet in her clean white tunic and tiny bead necklace, our behaviour was soon overlooked. We stopped being lewd and passed ourselves off as proud parents parading their infant. I did not believe in using my children as props in a disguise. My mother would have been furious. Helena's mother would have seized Favonia and sought sanctuary in the nearest temple. In my days as a lone informer, I had had other methods. Here, I would have sat against a pillar, huddled in dirty rags, except that Petronius had bagged this role of down-and-out for his observations at night. I had tried pretending to be an artist, but when I sat on a stool drawing townscapes in my note-tablet, the inevitable group of gawpers assembled behind me. They made it clear my sketching was awful. Several advised me to give up and get a proper job. It was not a situation where I could answer that I already had one, and ask if they knew Diocles. In the end, I assembled ropes and poles, with a bucket and some sponges, set up a barrier against the exterior of Privatus" house [which lay on one side of the open area, donned a one-armed unbelted tunic, and pretended to clean the stonework. That would be accepted by everyone as an endless job, and one where I, as the useless workman, was bound to be a slacker. I was safe then so long as Privatus himself never came around, demanding to know who gave me instructions to ruin the patina of his building. I was still lazing there in my role as a renovator when Helena brought the lunch basket. To observe the gatehouse opposite, I had had to plant myself right on the street line. Down the Decumanus Maximus came all the day's busy traffic. Plenty of carts and donkeys were entering the town, while the usual slow build-up accumulated in the other direction, all heading out to the city with their goods that evening. Then driving against them, rattling in from Rome and causing a fine drama, came a driver with no sense of social timing. Cursing him, the working teams who were trying to go the other way all slowed up and banged against each other. He was flash trash. In a bright crimson outfit, thirties, louche looking, proud of his luxuriant hair, and wearing pounds of gold, he cut an expensive dash. He had a girl with him. Of course her admiring presence made him whip up his horses, there were two, clearly excellent and well matched in colour [inevitably glossy black. In case anyone failed to notice them coming, they had bells on their harnesses. They were pulling the latest model in chariots for show offs. A garish Medusa covered the front, with pseudo-Greek hoplites all around the sides, whose oversized helmets and long phallic spears were apparently laid on in real gold leaf. The equipage must have been a special order, and its salesman was probably sunning himself in Neapolis on his commission. The girlie was screaming with glee. When she saw us, she could not help waving wildly, even though she had to cling on tight as her lover swerved from side to side, causing as much havoc as he could. She wanted us to know how proud she was to be tearing along through Ostia with this wondrous man. Her hero loved her. He had come to fetch her. She was absolutely radiant at being with him. He must be Theopompus. The passenger he was so busy impressing was Posidonius" daughter, Rhodope.
