XLIII

After five years in the Aventine watch Petronius had a keen eye for trouble. “Someone take hold of the man’s fish for him!”

My sister Maia leapt to her feet and grappled with me for the turbot, but with the stubborness of someone in shock I refused to let it go. “This is Helena,” Petronius announced to everybody helpfully. He had planted himself behind her to stop her backing out. She and I were both helpless. I did not want to talk to her in front of other people. With people watching, Helena would not speak to me.

I gripped the fish like a drowning sailor clutching a spar. It was all my fault as usual, but it was Helena who looked horrified. She struggled against the avuncular arm which Petronius had slung round her. “Marcus, Helena came to supervise the delivery of your reading couch—Helena,” Petronius battled on, “Marcus has been presented with a wonderful treat from Titus—are you going to stay and dine with us?”

“Not where I am not invited!”

“You are always invited,” I spoke up at last unconvincingly.

“It’s considered convenient to tell people!”

“Then I’m telling you now—”

“That’s gracious of you, Marcus!”

With the strength of the tipsy, Maia dragged the turbot away from me. Before I could stop her she placed him on the edge of the copper, over which he slipped as gracefully as a state barge on its maiden trip. A tide of scented water surged over the opposite edge making all the braziers crackle; members of my family cheered.

Maia sat down looking proud of her efforts. My brothers-in-law started passing round the wine I intended for later. The turbot was safe temporarily but he had started to cook, before I had time to count the spoons, thicken the sauce, change my tunic—or reconcile the girl I had insulted so appallingly. Petronius Longus was fussing over her, trying to apologise for me, but with a final effort Helena forced herself free. “Marcus will see you out—” he got in hopefully.

“Marcus has to cook his fish!”

Helena disappeared.

*   *   *

The water in the fish copper boiled.

“Leave it!” squealed Maia, fighting me over the braziers.

My mother, who had been sitting in silence, pushed us both aside with a mutinous growl. “We can look after it—go on!”

I rushed out into the corridor: empty.

I threw open the outer door: no one on the stairs.

With my heart bumping angrily I ran back inside, and glanced in the other rooms. Alongside the Senator’s reading couch in the cubicle I never used stood a trunk I had seen Helena travel with … Oh Jupiter. I guessed what that meant.

Petronius had cornered her in my bedroom. Helena was normally so resilient he seemed more upset than she was. I strode in, to his immense relief. “Would you like us all to leave?” I shook my head vigorously (thinking of the fish). Petronius slunk away.

I placed myself between Helena and the door. She stood shaking with anger, or possibly distress. “Why didn’t you invite me?”

“I thought you wouldn’t come!” Her face was white, and tense, and miserable. I hated myself for making her hate me. “I was still waiting for you to contact me. You obviously didn’t want to. Helena, I could not face staring at the door all evening, waiting for you—”

“Well, I came anyway,” she retorted crisply. “And now I suppose I’m expected to say ‘Oh that’s just Marcus!’ the way your family do!” I let her rant. It did her good, and gave me time. I could see that she had completely despaired. That trunk of hers had told me why. Not only had I slapped her in the face; I did it on the very day she had decided to come and live with me … “Don’t try anything!” she warned me, as I started walking towards her. “I cannot deal with this any longer, Marcus—”

I put both hands on her shoulders; she braced herself against the weight. “My darling, I do know—” I pulled her towards me. She resisted, but not hard enough.

“Marcus, I cannot bear seeing you go away and never knowing if I shall ever see you come back—”

I gathered her closer. “I’m here—”

“Let me go, Marcus.” Helena was leaning away from me; I must have stunk of uncooked fish.

“No; let me make things right—”

“I don’t want you to,” she answered, in that same thin, despondent voice. “Marcus, I don’t want to be bamboozled by some clever piece of oratory. I don’t want to co-operate in cheating myself. I don’t want to hear you squirming, ‘Helena Justina, I didn’t invite you because I knew you were coming anyway; Helena, I’m letting you blame me because I deserve it’—”

“I am sorry. Don’t tell me I’m a bastard; I’ll say it myself—” Helena nodded rapidly. “I won’t insult you by saying I love you, but I do, and you know it—”

“Oh stop pretending to be so strong and comforting.”

Grateful for the hint, I wrapped myself around her. “Forget I’ve been cuddling a turbot; come here…”

Her face crumpled as she leaned against my fishy chest.

Maia poked her head in through the new door curtain, saw us and blushed. “Shall we lay another bowl?”

“Yes,” I said without consulting Helena. Maia disappeared.

“No Marcus,” said Helena. “I’ll be friends; I cannot help it—but you will never make me stay!”

She had no time to finish. Before she could demolish me utterly, someone else started banging at my door. Petro would go. I could imagine his dread in case he found another girlfriend smirking on the threshold … I grimaced at Helena and started off to assist. Before I reached the doorway he burst in.

“There’s a panic on, Marcus; can you come?” My quiet friend looked highly excited. “It’s a posse of damned Praetorians! Only Mars knows what they are after—but apparently you asked Titus to bring his dinner napkin, to sample your fish…”

This had all the makings of a social disaster.

I winked at Helena. “Well! Are you just going to stand there looking beautiful—or are you going to rally round?”