happened so he can ask a good price for a going concern.’
‘I can think of another motive for him paying the compensation. He wants to prevent the company being fined for negligence,’ retorted Andronicus.
‘That’s possible.’ Since Nepos was my client, I felt obliged to keep my tone neutral.
‘Oh you have such a trusting nature!’ smiled my companion, unaware that I had simply preferred not to sound too clever. He composed compliments like many men: clichés I found embarrassing. ‘So where does that leave you regarding Salvidia? You can stop working on her case now?’
What a generous friend. He seemed so keen to spare me unnecessary labour. ‘If the compensation is paid, I am redundant. Unluckily for me, Salvidia had tied me to a no win, no fee contract.’
Andronicus cocked his head on one side. ‘Upset?’
‘No. A child was killed. I never liked the case.’
The archivist rose to his feet, looking pleased with my answer. ‘So! Since that vile termagant is out of the way and your work is over,’ he offered, ‘maybe you might come out and have lunch with me?’
I had work. But I knew how to pace it. Suddenly I became the kind of woman who goes out to lunch with a man she only met yesterday.
I let him choose where. Juno be praised he did not go for my aunt’s place, though we did walk past it.
He picked an eatery with an interior courtyard, secluded from street noise and well run, so it was pleasantly busy with a clientele of commercial customers. We had a light lunch, fried fish and salad, water with it. We talked and laughed. He made no moves. I valiantly refrained from making moves on him, though I was tempted. A woman has needs. Mine had not been met for a long time. Too long. I really liked him and was ready for adventure.
Afterwards he went back to the aediles’ office. He had a nice line in looking regretful that he had to leave.
Left alone, I walked to an ancient piazza called the Armilustrium, where I sat for a long time, thinking about life.
8
T he Armilustrium was the shared name of a festival and a sanctuary. The place was an old walled enclosure, sacred to Mars, the Roman god of war. From time immemorial, it had been where weapons were ritually purified in March and October, the start and end of the fighting season. After each ceremony there would be a big parade down to the Circus Maximus: all noise and triumphalism. Romans love to make a racket.
Since the enclosure served as a parade ground during the spring and autumn ceremonies, it was kept mainly bare, although there was a shrine at one end, a permanent stone altar in the centre and a couple of benches for the benefit of old ladies. In one corner was alleged to be the ancient tomb of Titus Tatius, a Sabine king who had ruled jointly with Romulus for a period, thousands of years ago. As a foreigner, he had been buried here on what was then the outsiders’ hill; an oak tree shaded his resting place. It must have been renewed. Even oaks don’t last that long.
In between festivals, the Armilustrium often lay deserted. I liked to come into the enclosure and sit out here. It was better than a public park where you were constantly irritated by lovers and rampaging schoolboys, beggars and mad people pretending to be lost as an excuse to engage strangers in conversation. There was hardly any litter here because the populace never wandered about with food in their hands, and nor was there that worrying smell of old dog dirt that tends to waft over even the most formal gardens if people are allowed to exercise their pets.
Don’t misunderstand me. I like dogs. At one terrible time of my young life, I had lived on the streets of the town I was born in, scavenging with the feral dogs; they were kinder to me than most humans. I became as wild as they were. Maybe at heart I still was. If ever I paused quietly to consider my origins and character, the fear of having an unRoman nature unsettled me. It positively scared other people.
‘I can think of another motive for him paying the compensation. He wants to prevent the company being fined for negligence,’ retorted Andronicus.
‘That’s possible.’ Since Nepos was my client, I felt obliged to keep my tone neutral.
‘Oh you have such a trusting nature!’ smiled my companion, unaware that I had simply preferred not to sound too clever. He composed compliments like many men: clichés I found embarrassing. ‘So where does that leave you regarding Salvidia? You can stop working on her case now?’
What a generous friend. He seemed so keen to spare me unnecessary labour. ‘If the compensation is paid, I am redundant. Unluckily for me, Salvidia had tied me to a no win, no fee contract.’
Andronicus cocked his head on one side. ‘Upset?’
‘No. A child was killed. I never liked the case.’
The archivist rose to his feet, looking pleased with my answer. ‘So! Since that vile termagant is out of the way and your work is over,’ he offered, ‘maybe you might come out and have lunch with me?’
I had work. But I knew how to pace it. Suddenly I became the kind of woman who goes out to lunch with a man she only met yesterday.
I let him choose where. Juno be praised he did not go for my aunt’s place, though we did walk past it.
He picked an eatery with an interior courtyard, secluded from street noise and well run, so it was pleasantly busy with a clientele of commercial customers. We had a light lunch, fried fish and salad, water with it. We talked and laughed. He made no moves. I valiantly refrained from making moves on him, though I was tempted. A woman has needs. Mine had not been met for a long time. Too long. I really liked him and was ready for adventure.
Afterwards he went back to the aediles’ office. He had a nice line in looking regretful that he had to leave.
Left alone, I walked to an ancient piazza called the Armilustrium, where I sat for a long time, thinking about life.
8
T he Armilustrium was the shared name of a festival and a sanctuary. The place was an old walled enclosure, sacred to Mars, the Roman god of war. From time immemorial, it had been where weapons were ritually purified in March and October, the start and end of the fighting season. After each ceremony there would be a big parade down to the Circus Maximus: all noise and triumphalism. Romans love to make a racket.
Since the enclosure served as a parade ground during the spring and autumn ceremonies, it was kept mainly bare, although there was a shrine at one end, a permanent stone altar in the centre and a couple of benches for the benefit of old ladies. In one corner was alleged to be the ancient tomb of Titus Tatius, a Sabine king who had ruled jointly with Romulus for a period, thousands of years ago. As a foreigner, he had been buried here on what was then the outsiders’ hill; an oak tree shaded his resting place. It must have been renewed. Even oaks don’t last that long.
In between festivals, the Armilustrium often lay deserted. I liked to come into the enclosure and sit out here. It was better than a public park where you were constantly irritated by lovers and rampaging schoolboys, beggars and mad people pretending to be lost as an excuse to engage strangers in conversation. There was hardly any litter here because the populace never wandered about with food in their hands, and nor was there that worrying smell of old dog dirt that tends to waft over even the most formal gardens if people are allowed to exercise their pets.
Don’t misunderstand me. I like dogs. At one terrible time of my young life, I had lived on the streets of the town I was born in, scavenging with the feral dogs; they were kinder to me than most humans. I became as wild as they were. Maybe at heart I still was. If ever I paused quietly to consider my origins and character, the fear of having an unRoman nature unsettled me. It positively scared other people.
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