Geminus valued the artwork privately then openly leered at the wench. She was superbly carved, then cast in bronze, a joy to inspect: Helena Justina herself.
I whistled softly. It was a clever work of art. I wondered how it was possible to capture in metal that sense of angry outrage always waiting to break out, and the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth... I flicked off a huddle of woodlice from the angle of her elbow, then patted her neat bronze behind.
Geminus was the auctioneer Anacrites had libelled as the parent who inflicted me on the world. I could see why people might think so. (As, looking at my family, I could see why my father had chosen to escape.) He was a stocky, secretive, moody man, about sixty years old, with rampant grey hair, all curls. He was good-looking (though less good-looking than he thought). His profile swooped in one strong line without a ledge between the eyes - a real Etruscan nose. He had a nose for a scandal and an eye for a woman that had made him a legend even in the Saepta Julia where the antique dealers congregate. If one of my clients had an heirloom to sell, I pushed it his way (if the client was a woman, and I happened to be busy, I pushed her too).
We stood playing at art critics. Helena's statue was unsigned but had been made by a good Greek sculptor, from life. It was magnificent, with gilding on the headdress and tinted eyes. It showed Helena at about eighteen years old, with her hair folded up in the old-fashioned style. She was formally robed - in a way which cleverly hinted how she looked underneath.
'Very nice,' commented Geminus. 'A very nice piece!'
'Where had they hidden this beauty?' I asked the porters.
'Shoved in a cubbyhole, next to the kitchen latrine.'
I could cope with that. I did not fancy Pertinax brooding over her in his private suite. (All the fool had kept in his bedroom and study were silver statuettes of his racehorses and paintings of his ships.)
Geminus and I admired her stately workmanship. He must have noticed my face.
'Castor and Pollux! You chasing her, Marcus?'
'No,' I said.
'Liar!' he retorted.
'True.'
In fact, when her ladyship had wanted a closer acquaintance she chased me. But that was no business of his.
Women change a lot between eighteen and twenty-three. It was painful to see her untouched by her trials with Pertinax, and to wish I had known her first. Something in her expression, even at that age, made me uneasily aware I had been flirting too busily elsewhere today - and all my life.
'Too submissive. He's missed her,' I murmured. 'In real life the lady glares out as though she'd bite your nose off if you stepped too close-'
Inspecting my snout for damage, Geminus reached to give it a possessive tweak; my arm jerked up to fend him off. ‘So how close do you generally step?'
'Met her. Last year in Britain. She hired me as her bodyguard back to Rome - all perfectly straight and free from scandal, see-'
'You losing your touch?' he mocked. 'Not many noble young ladies could ride fourteen hundred miles with a likely lad and not allow themselves some consolation for the rigours of the road!' He peered at her. I felt a moment of uncertainty, as if two people I cared about had just been introduced.
I was still clutching her recipe.
'What's that?'
'How to cook Turbot in Caraway. No doubt her husband's favourite midday snack -' I sighed grimly. 'You know what they say: for the price of three horses you may buy a decent cook, and with three cooks you can possibly bid for a turbot - I don't even own a horse!'
He eyed me evilly. 'Want her, Marcus?'
'Nowhere to keep her.'
'That statue?' he asked, with a broad grin.
'Oh the statue!' I answered, smiling sadly too.
We decided it would be highly improper to sell a noblewoman's portrait in the public marketplace. Vespasian would agree; he would make her family buy it back at some exorbitant price. Geminus disapproved of emperors as much as I did, so we
I whistled softly. It was a clever work of art. I wondered how it was possible to capture in metal that sense of angry outrage always waiting to break out, and the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth... I flicked off a huddle of woodlice from the angle of her elbow, then patted her neat bronze behind.
Geminus was the auctioneer Anacrites had libelled as the parent who inflicted me on the world. I could see why people might think so. (As, looking at my family, I could see why my father had chosen to escape.) He was a stocky, secretive, moody man, about sixty years old, with rampant grey hair, all curls. He was good-looking (though less good-looking than he thought). His profile swooped in one strong line without a ledge between the eyes - a real Etruscan nose. He had a nose for a scandal and an eye for a woman that had made him a legend even in the Saepta Julia where the antique dealers congregate. If one of my clients had an heirloom to sell, I pushed it his way (if the client was a woman, and I happened to be busy, I pushed her too).
We stood playing at art critics. Helena's statue was unsigned but had been made by a good Greek sculptor, from life. It was magnificent, with gilding on the headdress and tinted eyes. It showed Helena at about eighteen years old, with her hair folded up in the old-fashioned style. She was formally robed - in a way which cleverly hinted how she looked underneath.
'Very nice,' commented Geminus. 'A very nice piece!'
'Where had they hidden this beauty?' I asked the porters.
'Shoved in a cubbyhole, next to the kitchen latrine.'
I could cope with that. I did not fancy Pertinax brooding over her in his private suite. (All the fool had kept in his bedroom and study were silver statuettes of his racehorses and paintings of his ships.)
Geminus and I admired her stately workmanship. He must have noticed my face.
'Castor and Pollux! You chasing her, Marcus?'
'No,' I said.
'Liar!' he retorted.
'True.'
In fact, when her ladyship had wanted a closer acquaintance she chased me. But that was no business of his.
Women change a lot between eighteen and twenty-three. It was painful to see her untouched by her trials with Pertinax, and to wish I had known her first. Something in her expression, even at that age, made me uneasily aware I had been flirting too busily elsewhere today - and all my life.
'Too submissive. He's missed her,' I murmured. 'In real life the lady glares out as though she'd bite your nose off if you stepped too close-'
Inspecting my snout for damage, Geminus reached to give it a possessive tweak; my arm jerked up to fend him off. ‘So how close do you generally step?'
'Met her. Last year in Britain. She hired me as her bodyguard back to Rome - all perfectly straight and free from scandal, see-'
'You losing your touch?' he mocked. 'Not many noble young ladies could ride fourteen hundred miles with a likely lad and not allow themselves some consolation for the rigours of the road!' He peered at her. I felt a moment of uncertainty, as if two people I cared about had just been introduced.
I was still clutching her recipe.
'What's that?'
'How to cook Turbot in Caraway. No doubt her husband's favourite midday snack -' I sighed grimly. 'You know what they say: for the price of three horses you may buy a decent cook, and with three cooks you can possibly bid for a turbot - I don't even own a horse!'
He eyed me evilly. 'Want her, Marcus?'
'Nowhere to keep her.'
'That statue?' he asked, with a broad grin.
'Oh the statue!' I answered, smiling sadly too.
We decided it would be highly improper to sell a noblewoman's portrait in the public marketplace. Vespasian would agree; he would make her family buy it back at some exorbitant price. Geminus disapproved of emperors as much as I did, so we
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