Last Act in Palmyra (46 page)

‘Oh yes,' she replied offhandedly. ‘I want to liven up my stage act – but he'll be a challenge!'

‘However do you manage to dance with him safely?' Helena demanded.

‘I'm not using him yet!' Even Thalia showed some wariness. ‘I'll have to think about it on the way home to Rome. He's gorgeous,' she exclaimed admiringly. ‘But you don't exactly say “Come to Mother!” and pick up a cobra for a cuddle … Some operators cut out their fangs, or even sew their mouths up, which means the poor darlings starve to death, of course. I haven't decided whether I'll milk his venom before a performance, or just use the easy method.'

Full of foreboding, I felt obliged to ask: ‘What's the easy method?'

Thalia grinned. ‘Oh, just dancing out of range!'

Glad to escape, we jumped down from the waggon and came face to face with the ‘keen new snakekeeper'. He had his sleeves rolled up and was dragging along one of the company costume trunks, presumably intended as the big python's new bed. The lion cub rushed up to him, and he rolled it over to scratch its stomach. It was Musa. Knowing Thalia, I had half expected it.

Musa looked unexpectedly competent as he dodged the big flailing paws, and the cub was ecstatic.

I grinned. ‘Surely the last time I saw you, you were a priest? Now you're an expert zookeeper!'

‘Lions and snakes are symbolic,' he answered calmly, as if he was thinking of starting a menagerie on the Petra High Place. I did not ask about him leaving us. I saw him glance diffidently at Helena, as if ensuring she was making a good recovery. She still looked pale. I slung an arm around her. I was not forgetting how serious her illness had been. Maybe I wanted to let it be known that any cosseting she needed would come from me.

Musa seemed rather withdrawn, though not upset. He stepped up to the waggon where the snakes were kept and lifted something from a peg in the dark interior. ‘Look what I found waiting for me at a temple here, Falco.' He was showing me a hat. ‘There is a letter from Shullay, but I have not read it yet.'

The hat was a wide-brimmed, round-crowned, Greek-looking number, the sort you see on statues of Hermes. I sucked air through my teeth. ‘That's a traveller's headgear. Have you seen it before – travelling very fast downhill?'

‘Oh yes. I think it was on a murderer that day.'

It did not seem the moment to tell Musa that according to Grumio he was the murderer himself. Instead I amused myself remembering Grumio's absurd theory that Musa was some high-powered political agent, sent out by The Brother on a mission to destroy.

Musa applied his contract killer's skills to clearing up a pile of lion dung.

*   *   *

Helena and Thalia set off back to our tent. I dallied behind. Musa, who had been grappled by the cub again, looked up long enough to meet my eyes.

‘Helena has recovered, but she was very sick. Sending Thalia with her mithridatium helped a lot. Thanks, Musa.'

He disentangled himself from the fluffy, overactive little lion. He seemed quieter than I had been dreading, though he started to say, ‘I want to explain –'

‘Never explain, Musa. I hope you'll dine with us tonight. Maybe you'll have good news from Shullay to tell me.' I clapped his shoulder as I turned to follow the others. ‘I'm sorry. Thalia's an old friend. We let her have your section of the tent.'

I knew that nothing had ever happened between him and Helena, but I was not stupid. I didn't mind how much he cared about her, so long as he honoured the rules. The first rule was, I did not expose Helena by letting other men who hankered after her live in our house. ‘Nothing personal,' I added cheerily. ‘But I don't care for some of your pets!'

Musa shrugged, smiling in return as he accepted it. ‘I am the snakekeeper. I have to stay with Zeno.'

I took two strides, then turned back to him. ‘We missed you. Welcome back, Musa.'

I meant that.

*   *   *

Returning to Helena I happened to pass Byrria. I told her I had been to see the big python, recommended the experience, and said I was sure the keeper would be pleased to show her his menagerie.

Well, you have to try.

LXVI

That night I was sitting outside our tent with Helena and Thalia, waiting for Musa to turn up for dinner. We were approached by Chremes and Davos, together with the long, gawky figure of Phrygia, apparently on their way to dine at one of their own tents. Chremes stopped for a discussion with me about an unresolved problem with my play. As we talked, with me paying as little attention as possible to the manager's fussing, I overheard Phrygia muttering to Thalia: ‘Don't I know you from somewhere?'

Thalia laughed gruffly. ‘I wondered when you would ask!'

I noticed that Helena applied herself to a tactful chat with Davos.

Phrygia looked tense. ‘Somewhere in Italy? Or was it Greece?'

‘Try Tegea,' stated Thalia. She had on her sardonic look again.

Then Phrygia gasped as if she had been poked in the side with a spindle. ‘I need to talk to you!'

‘Well I'll try and fit you in some time,' Thalia promised unconvincingly. ‘I have to rehearse my snake dance.' I happened to know she claimed
never
to rehearse her dance, partly because of the danger it entailed. ‘And the acrobats need a lot of supervision…'

‘This is cruelty!' murmured Phrygia.

‘No,' said Thalia in a tone that meant to be heeded. ‘You made your decision. If you've suddenly decided to change your mind after all these years, the other party deserves some warning. Don't push me! Maybe I'll introduce you after the play…'

Chremes had given up trying to interest me in his troubles. Looking frustrated, Phrygia felt silent and allowed her husband to lead her away.

I was not the only one who had overheard the intriguing snatch of conversation. Davos found some excuse to dally behind, and I heard him say to Thalia, ‘I remember Tegea!' I felt Helena kick my ankle, and obediently joined her in pretending to be very busy laying out our meal. As usual Davos was being blunt. ‘She wants to find the baby.'

‘So I gathered,' Thalia returned rather drily, tipping her head back and giving him a challenging stare. ‘A bit late! Actually, it's not a baby any more.'

‘What happened?' Davos asked.

‘When people give me unwanted creatures, I generally bring them up.'

‘It lived then?'

‘She was alive the last time I saw her.' As Thalia informed Davos, Helena glanced at me. So Phrygia's baby had been a girl. I suppose we had both already worked that out.

‘So she's grown up now?'

‘A promising little artiste,' Thalia said grittily. That too was no surprise to some of us.

Seeming satisfied, Davos grunted, then went on his way after Chremes and Phrygia.

*   *   *

‘So! What happened at Tegea?' I tackled our companion innocently when the coast was clear. Thalia would probably have said that men are never innocent.

She shrugged, pretending indifference. ‘Not a lot. It's a tiny Greek town, just a blot on the Peloponnese.'

‘When were you there?'

‘Oh … how about twenty years ago?'

‘Really?' We both knew exactly where the conversation was leading. ‘Would that have been about the time our stage manager's wife missed her famous chance to play Medea at Epidaurus?'

At this, Thalia stopped playing at being unconcerned and burst into guffaws. ‘Get away! She told you that?'

‘It's common currency.'

‘Common codswallop! She's fooling, Falco.' Thalia's tone was not unpleasant. She knew most people spend their lives deluding themselves.

‘So are you going to give us the real story, Thalia?'

‘I was just starting out. Juggling – and the rest!' Her voice dropped, almost sadly. ‘Phrygia play Medea? Don't make me laugh! Some slimy producer who wanted to get his hand up her skirt convinced her he could swing it, but it would never have happened. For one thing – you should know this, Falco–Greeks never allow women actresses.'

‘True.' It was rare in Roman theatre too. But in Italy actresses had done mime plays for years, a vague cover for striptease acts. In groups like ours, with a manager like Chremes who was a pushover for anyone forceful, they could now earn a crust in speaking parts. But groups like ours never took part in the ancient Greek mainland festivals.

‘So what happened, Thalia?'

‘She was just a singer and dancer in the chorus. She was drifting about with grand ideas, just waiting for some bastard to con her into believing she would make the big time. In the end, becoming pregnant was a let-out.'

‘So she had the baby –'

‘That's what tends to happen.'

‘And she gave it away at Tegea?'

By now this was fairly obvious. Only yesterday I had seen a tall, thin, slightly familiar twenty-year-old who I knew had spent her childhood fostered out. I remembered that Heliodorus was supposed to have told Phrygia that her daughter had been seen somewhere by someone he knew. That could be Tranio. Tranio had appeared at the Vatican Circus; Thalia had known him there, and he presumably knew her troupe, especially the girls if his current form was indicative. ‘I suppose she gave it to you, Thalia? So where is the child now? Could Phrygia need to look in somewhere like Palmyra, I wonder…'

Thalia tried just smiling knowingly.

Helena joined in, saying quietly, ‘I think we could tell Phrygia who her baby is now, Marcus.'

‘Keep it to yourself!' commanded Thalia.

Helena grinned at her. ‘Ooh Thalia! Don't tell me you're considering how you can cheat Phrygia.'

‘Who, me?'

‘Of course not,' I weighed in innocently. ‘On the other hand, wouldn't it be a nuisance if just when you'd found your valuable water organist, some tiresome relation popped out of the rocky scenery, dying to tell the girl she had a family, and keen to whisk her off to join quite another company than yours?'

‘You bet it would!' agreed Thalia, in a dangerous tone that said she was not intending to let Sophrona meet such a fate.

*   *   *

Musa turned up at that moment, allowing Thalia to shrug off the Phrygia incident. ‘What kept you? I was starting to think Pharaoh must have got out!'

‘I took Zeno for a swim at the springs; he didn't want to be brought back.'

My mind boggled at the thought of trying to persuade a giant python to behave himself. ‘What happens when he gets his own ideas and starts playing up?'

‘You grab his neck and blow in his face,' Musa told me calmly.

‘I'll remember that!' giggled Helena, glancing teasingly at me.

Musa had brought with him a papyrus, closely written in the angular script I vaguely remembered seeing on inscriptions at Petra. As we sat down to eat he showed it to me, though I had to ask him to translate.

‘This is the letter I mentioned, Falco, from Shullay, the old priest at my temple. I had sent to ask him if he could describe the man he saw coming down from the High Place just before we saw you.'

‘Right. Anything useful?'

Musa ran his finger down the letter. ‘He starts by remembering the day, the heat, the peacefulness of our garden at the temple…' Very romantic, but not what I call evidence. ‘Ah. Now he says,
“I was surprised to hear somebody descending from the High Place so rapidly. He was stumbling, and falling over his feet, though otherwise light of step. When he saw me, he slowed up and began whistling unconcernedly. He was a young man, about your age, Musa, and also your height. His body was slim. He wore no beard. He wore the hat…”
Shullay found the hat later, cast aside behind rocks lower down the mountain. You and I must have missed it, Falco.'

I was thinking fast. ‘It doesn't add much, but this is very useful! We have six possible male suspects. We can certainly now eliminate some of them on Shullay's evidence alone. Chremes, and also Davos, are both too old and too heavy to fit the description.'

‘Philocrates is too small,' Musa added. He and I both grinned.

‘Besides, Shullay would certainly have mentioned if the man was quite so handsome! Congrio may be
too
slight. He's so weedy I think if he had seen Congrio, Shullay would have made more of his poor stature. Besides, he can't whistle. That leaves us,' I concluded quietly, ‘with only Grumio and Tranio.'

Musa leaned forwards, looking expectant. ‘So what are we to do now?'

‘Nothing yet. Now I'm certain it has to be one of those two, I'll have to identify which one we definitely want.'

‘You cannot interrupt your play, Falco!' Thalia commented reprovingly.

‘No, not with a rapacious garrison screaming for it.' I applied a competent expression that probably fooled no one. ‘I'll have to do my play as well.'

LXVII

Rehearsing a half-written new play with a gang of cocky subversives who would not take it seriously nearly defeated me. I failed to see their problem.
The Spook who Spoke
was perfectly straightforward. The hero, to be played by Philocrates, was a character called Moschion – traditionally the name of a slightly unsatisfactory youth. You know the idea – trouble to his parents, useless in love, uncertain whether to turn into a wastrel or to come good in the last act.

I had never decided where the action should take place: some district no one ever fancies visiting. Illyria, perhaps.

The first scene was a wedding feast, an attempt to be controversial after all those plays where the wedding feast happens at the end. Moschion's mother, a widow, was remarrying, partly in order to allow Tranio to do his ‘Clever Cook' routine and partly to let the panpipe girls wander around deliciously as banquet entertainment. Amidst Tranio's jokes about rude-shaped peppered meats, the young Moschion would be complaining about his mother, or when nobody had time to listen just muttering to himself. This portrait of dreadful adolescence was, I thought, rather finely drawn (it was autobiographical).