Last Act in Palmyra (4 page)

Helena was looking at me. She said nothing, but she gave me a certain still, quiet stare. It had the same effect on me as walking down a dark alley between high buildings in a known haunt of robbers with knives.

There was no need to mention that I had been offered a new mission; Helena knew. Now my problem was not trying to find a way of telling her, but sounding as if I had intended to come clean all along. I disguised a sigh. Helena looked away.

‘We'll give the elephant a rest,' Thalia grumbled, coming back to us. ‘Is he being a good boy?' She meant the python. Presumably.

‘He's a treat,' Helena answered, in the same dry tone. ‘Thalia, what were you saying about a possible job for Marcus?'

‘Oh, it's nothing.'

‘If it was nothing,' I said, ‘you wouldn't have thought of mentioning it.'

‘Just a girl.'

‘Marcus likes jobs involving girls,' Helena commented.

‘I bet he does!'

‘I met a nice one once,' I put in reminiscently. The girl I once met took my hand, fairly nicely.

‘He's all talk,' Thalia consoled her.

‘Well, he thinks he's a poet.'

‘That's right: all lip and libido!' I joined in, for self-protection.

‘Pure swank,' said Thalia. ‘Like the bastard who ran off with my water organist.'

‘Is this your missing person?' I forced myself to show an interest, partly to insert some professional grit but mainly to distract Helena from guessing I had been called to the Palace again.

Thalia spread herself on the arena seats. The effect was dramatic. I made sure I was gazing out towards the elephant. ‘Don't rush me, as the High Priest said to the acolyte … Sophrona, her name was.'

‘It would be.' All the cheap skirts who pretended to play musical instruments were called Sophrona nowadays.

‘She was really good, Falco!' I knew what that meant. (Actually, coming from Thalia it meant she
was
really good.) ‘She could play,' Thalia confirmed. ‘There were plenty of parasites taking advantage of the Emperor's interest.' She was referring to Nero, the water-organ fanatic, not our present endearing specimen. Vespasian's most famous musical trait was going to sleep during Nero's lyre performances, for which he had been lucky to escape with nothing worse than a few months' exile. ‘A true artiste, Sophrona was.'

‘Musicianship?' I queried innocently.

‘A lovely touch … And looks! When Sophrona pumped out her tunes men rose in their seats.'

I took it at face value, not looking at Helena, who was supposed to have been politely brought up. Nevertheless I heard her giggling shamelessly before she asked, ‘Had she been with you long?'

‘Virtually from babyhood. Her mother was a lanky chorus dancer in a mime group I once ran into. Reckoned she couldn't look after a child. Couldn't be bothered, more like. I saved the scrap, fostered her out until she was a useful age, then taught her what I could. She was too tall for an acrobat, but luckily she turned out to be musical, so when I saw that the hydraulus was the instrument of the moment I grabbed the chance and got Sophrona trained. I paid for it, at a time when I wasn't doing so well as nowadays, so I'm annoyed at losing her.'

‘Tell us what happened, Thalia?' I asked. ‘How could an expert like you be so careless as to lose valuable talent from your troupe?'

‘It wasn't me who lost her!' Thalia snorted. ‘That fool Fronto. He was showing some prospective patrons around – Eastern visitors. He reckoned they were theatrical entrepreneurs, but they were time-wasters.'

‘Just wanted a free gawp at the menagerie?'

‘And at female tumblers with no clothes on. The rest of us could see we hadn't much hope of them hiring us for anything. Even if they had done it would have been all sodomy and mean tips. So nobody took much notice. It was just before the panther got loose and munched up Fronto; naturally things grew rather hectic after that. The Syrians did pay us another hopeful visit, but we pulled down the awnings. They must have left Rome, and then we realised Sophrona had gone too.'

‘A man in it?'

‘Oh bound to be!'

I noticed Helena smiling again as Thalia exploded with contempt. Then Helena asked, ‘At least you know they were Syrian. So who were these visitors?'

‘No idea. Fronto was the man in charge,' Thalia grumbled, as if she were accusing him of seedy moral habits. ‘Once Fronto ended up inside the panther, all we could remember was that they spoke Greek with a very funny accent, wore stripy robes, and seemed to think somewhere called “the ten Towns” was the tops in civic life.'

‘I've heard of the Decapolis,' I said. ‘It's a Greek federation in central Syria. That's a long way to go looking for a musician who's done a moonlight.'

‘Not to mention the fact that if you do go,' said Helena, ‘whichever order you flog around these ten gracious metropolitan sites, she's bound to be in the last town you visit. By the time you get there, you'll be too tired to argue with her.'

‘No point anyway,' I added. ‘She's probably got a set of twins and marsh fever by now. Don't you have any other facts to go on, Thalia?'

‘Only a name one of the menagerie-keepers remembered – Habib.'

‘Oh dear. In the East it's probably as common as Gaius,' said Helena. ‘Or Marcus,' she added slyly.

‘And we know
he's
common!' Thalia joined in.

‘Could the girl have gone looking for her mother?' I asked, having had some experience of tracing fostered children.

Thalia shook her head. ‘She doesn't know who her mother was.'

‘Might the mother have come looking for her?'

‘Doubt it. I've heard nothing about her for twenty years. She might be working under a different name. Well, face it, Falco, she's most likely dead by now.'

I agreed the point sombrely. ‘So what about the father? Any chance Sophrona heard from him?'

Thalia roared with laughter. ‘What father? There were various candidates, none of whom had the slightest interest in being pinned down. As I recall it, only one of them had anything about him, and naturally he was the one the mother wouldn't look at twice.'

‘She must have looked once!' I observed facetiously.

Thalia gave me a pitying glance, then said to Helena, ‘Explain the facts of life to him, dearie! Just because you go to bed with a man doesn't mean you have to look at the bastard!'

Helena was smiling again, though the expression in her eyes was less charitable. I reckoned it might be time to halt the ribaldry. ‘So we're stuck with the “young love” theory?'

‘Don't get excited, Falco,' Thalia told me with her usual frankness. ‘Sophrona was a treasure and I'd risk a lot to get her back. But I can't afford the fare to send you scavenging in the Orient. Still, next time you have business in the desert, remember me!'

‘Stranger things have happened.' I spoke with care. Helena was watching me thoughtfully. ‘The East is a lively arena at present. People are talking about the place all the time. Since Jerusalem was captured, the whole area is opening up for expansion.'

‘So that's it!' Helena muttered. ‘I knew you were up to something again.'

Thalia looked surprised. ‘You're really going to Syria?'

‘Somewhere close, possibly. Proposals have been whispered in my direction.' For a moment it had seemed easier to break the news to Helena with a witness who was strong enough to prevent me from being beaten up. Like most of my good ideas, I was rapidly losing faith in this one.

Unaware of the undercurrents, Thalia asked, ‘Would I have to pay you if you did some scouting for me?'

‘For a friend I can be commissioned to be paid on results.'

‘What about your fare?'

‘Ah well! Someone else may be persuaded to come up with the fare –'

‘I thought so!' Helena exclaimed, breaking in angrily. ‘This will be someone called Vespasian?'

‘You know I was intending to tell you –'

‘You promised, Marcus. You promised to refuse the work next time.' She stood up and stalked out across the arena to pat the elephant. The set of her back implied it was safer not to follow her.

I watched her go, a tall, dark-haired girl with a straight carriage. Watching Helena was as pleasant as hearing Falernian glug into a winecup, especially when it was my own cup.

Mine she might be, but I still had serious second thoughts about upsetting her.

Thalia was eyeing me shrewdly. ‘You're in love!' People always said this with a mixture of wonder and disgust.

‘You have a keen grasp of the situation!' I grinned.

‘What's the problem between you?'

‘There's no problem between us. Just other people who think there ought to be.'

‘What other people?'

‘Most of Rome.'

Thalia raised her eyes. ‘Sounds as if going somewhere else could make life easier!'

‘Who wants an easy life?' She knew I was lying about that.

To my relief, once her temper cooled Helen strolled back, leading the elephant, who was now devoted to her. I assumed he realised he would have to shift me before it could do him any good. He nuzzled her ear in a way I liked to do myself, while she bent her head away resignedly, just as if avoiding annoying attentions from me.

‘Helena doesn't want you to leave her,' observed Thalia.

‘Who said anything about leaving her? Helena Justina is my partner. We share danger and disaster, joy and triumph –'

‘Oh very nice!' Thalia commenced, with a sceptical rasp.

Helena had listened to my speech in a way that at least allowed me to make another: ‘At the moment I wouldn't mind putting myself a long way from Rome,' I said. ‘Especially if the Treasury pays for it. The only issue is whether
Helena
wants to go.'

She accepted my gaze quietly. She too was searching for ways we could live together without interference or pressure from others. Travel was one method we had found that sometimes worked. ‘So long as I do have a say in the decision, I'll go where you go, Marcus Didius.'

‘That's right, dearie,' Thalia agreed with her. ‘Always best to trot along and keep an eye on them!'

ACT ONE : NABATAEA

About a month later. The scene is set initially in Petra, a remote city in the desert. Dramatic mountains dominate on either side. Then on rapidly to Bostra.

 

SYNOPSIS:
Falco,
an adventurer, and
Helena,
a rash young woman, arrive in a strange city disguised as curious travellers. They are unaware that
Anacrites,
a jealous enemy, has transmitted news of their visit to the one man they need to avoid. When an unpleasant accident befalls
Heliodorus,
a theatrical hack, their help is enlisted by
Chremes,
an actor-producer, but by then everyone is looking nervously for a quick camel ride out of town.

V

We had been following the two men all the way to the High Place. From time to time we heard their voices ringing off the rocks up ahead of us. They were talking in occasional short sentences, like acquaintances who kept the politeness going. Not lost in a deep conversation, not angry, but not strangers either. Strangers would have either walked along in silence or made more of a sustained effort.

I did wonder if they might be priests, going up for a ritual.

‘If they are, we should turn back,' Helena suggested. The remark was her only contribution so far that morning. Her tone was cool, sensible, and subtly implying that
I
was a dangerous idiot for bringing us here.

A staid response seemed called for; I put on a frivolous manner: ‘I never intrude on religion, particularly when the Lord of the Mountain might demand the ultimate sacrifice.' We knew little of the Petrans' religion, beyond the facts that their chief god was symbolised by blocks of rock and that this strong, mysterious deity was said to require bloodthirsty appeasement, carried out on the mountaintops he ruled. ‘My mother wouldn't like her boy to be consecrated to Dushara.'

Helena said nothing.

Helena said nothing, in fact, during most of our climb. We were having a furious argument, the kind that's intensely silent. For this reason, although
we
heard that the two men were toiling up ahead of us,
they
almost certainly failed to notice that we were following. We made no attempt to let them know. It seemed unimportant at the time.

I decided that their intermittent voices were too casual to cause alarm. Even if they were priests they were probably going routinely to sweep away yesterday's offerings (in whatever unlikeable form those offerings took). They might be locals making the trip for a picnic. Most likely they were fellow visitors, just panting up to the sky-high altar out of curiosity.

So we clambered on, more concerned about the steepness of the path and our own quarrel than anybody else.

*   *   *

There were various ways to reach the High Place. ‘Some joker down by the temple tried to tell me this route is how they bring the virgins up for sacrifice.'

‘
You've
nothing to worry about then!' Helena deigned to utter.

We had taken what appeared to be a gentle flight of steps a little to the left of the theatre. It rapidly steepened, cutting up beside a narrow gorge. We had the rock face on both sides at first, quarried intriguingly and threatening to overhang our way; soon we acquired a narrow but increasingly spectacular defile to our right. Greenery clung to its sides – spear-leafed oleanders and tamarisk among the red, grey and amber striations of the rocks. These were most eye-catching on the cliff face alongside us, where the Nabataeans had carved out their passage to the mountaintop taking their normal delight in revealing the silken patterns of the sandstone.