David Wishart - Trade Secrets

Fascinating things, babies. So long as you keep a respectful distance, that is, because the little buggers can be really devious. Witness the existence of projectile vomiting.

Which was currently relevant: as of the evening before, wed got Marilla and her doctor husband, Clarus, over on a visit from Castrimoenium, plus of course the grand-sprog, young Marcus Cornelius, born at the start of the Winter Festival so now pushing five months old, as promising a little bruiser as ever dirtied a nappy and presently ensconced on the atrium couch opposite snoring his socks off against his grandmothers shoulder.

You want to hold him for a while, Marcus? Perilla said. I have to go upstairs to change. Theyll be here in an hour.

True; it was the ladys monthly poetry-klatsch morning, when her literary pals met to juggle their anapaests, and this time she was hosting. Not exactly my scene. By the time the cultured hordes rolled up for their cakes and honeyed wine Id be long gone.

No, I think Ill pass, I said. Ill leave it to the experts.

Oh, come on, dear! Hes perfectly harmless! And Im no more an expert with babies than you are.

True again; itd become obvious pretty early on that Perilla couldnt have kids herself, and wed adopted Marilla in her early teens when her bastard of a real father took his well-earned final nose-dive down the blunt end of the Capitol. Even so

No, Im OK, I said.

Coward. Perilla stood up carefully, prised young Marcus loose, and handed him to Marilla on the other couch. You really should take your grandfathering duties more seriously.

Yeah, well, Ill wait until things reach the conversation stage.

Clarus, on the couch next to Marilla, grinned. Corvinus, he wont even be able to put two words together for another two years at least, he said. And handling an actual conversation will take just a little longer.

Really?

Trust me.

Jupiter! It was a different world, this!

So what are your plans for today, dear? Perilla said to Marilla. Youre very welcome to join us if you like. Albia Tertias giving a short talk on the funerary epigrams in Cephalass Anthology with her own translations, which should be quite fun. Tertias always good value.

I glanced at Clarus and caught the wince and slight look of desperation. Right; not a literary man, by any means, Cornelius Clarus, unless you could call medical treatises literature. Particularly the ones featuring illustrations of dissected body parts. Marilla wasnt exactly a fan, either, to put it mildly. I couldve told Perilla she was on a hiding to nothing for a start, but she was probably only being polite.

No, Marilla said carefully. No, we thought we might do a few touristy things while were here. Clarus has been to Rome before, of course, lots of times, but weve never really got round to it. I thought today wed take a boat trip from the Sublician Bridge upriver to Augustuss Mausoleum. And Clarus wants to go to the Pollio Library. Theyve got a rare manuscript of Erasistratus hed like to take a look at. But that can wait for another day.

On the sensory and motor nerve systems, Clarus elaborated.

Is that so, now? I said.

Its fascinating stuff. He also has a lot to say about bodily degeneration due to sudden or chronic diseases.

Really. Gods! Some people had a weird definition of touristy, let alone what constituted good reading material. Still, everyone to their own bag. Me, Id be spending the time more constructively with a leisurely shave in my usual booth off Market Square, followed by a few hours propping up the bar at Renatiuss with the other punters, soaking up the booze and generally putting the world to rights.

Are you taking young Marcus? Perilla asked. On the boat trip, I mean.

No, well leave him behind with Mysta, Marilla said; Mysta was the nurse. Itll make a change, getting away on our own for a while, particularly since Clarus is busy most of the time. Besides, hes had a bit of diarrhoea these last few days, so it might not be a good idea.

It was my turn to wince: ah, the joys of parenthood. Still, shed brought the glad news out deadpan, so I assumed she was pretty much hardened to small unpleasantries like that by now.

Very well, dear, Perilla said. Ill see you later. Have a nice time. She turned to go. Oh, and you too, Marcus, if you really do insist on going out. The barest sniff as she made for the stairs; Perilla doesnt altogether approve of me passing up an opportunity to broaden my cultural horizons, particularly when the alternative choice of venue is Renatiuss wineshop on Iugarius where most of the punters are plain mantles at best, with a fair sprinkling of freedmen. Me, Ive always thought that was a definite plus: reasonably close to the centre as Renatiuss is, the purple-striper brigade wouldnt be seen dead doing their drinking and social networking there. The wine was good, too, which set the cap on it.

Marilla stood up, still holding the sleeping Sprog.

Ill get changed as well, she said to Clarus. Marcus seems to be flat out, so Ill put him in his cot and tell Mysta whats happening. Give me ten minutes?

Sure.

She left. Clarus was grinning.

Whats so funny? I said.

Oh, nothing.

Uh-huh. Me, I can tell how many beans make five, and Id seen the look of panic on his face when Perilla handed out her invitation change to one of relief.

You hadnt any plans for the morning at all, had you? I said.

He shook his head. No. Or nothing definite, anyway. Its only our first day, after all. That was pretty fast thinking on Marillas part.

Youre learning, pal. Both of you. Although Marillas had a lot more practice.

The grin widened. Simple self-preservation, he said. And mans a learning animal. Mind you, the tourist things true enough, in general terms. The visit to the Pollio, too, but like Marilla said that can wait. He settled back on the couch. So. How are things in Rome under the new regime?

Pretty quiet, all things considered. Certainly no ructions. Its early days yet, sure, but Perilla thinks Claudius will make a good emperor, and from what Ive seen Id tend to agree. Particularly after Gaius.

Youve met him? His wifes a cousin of yours, isnt she?

I kept my face straight. Messalina. Yeah. We havent had much to do with each other in the past, mind. And wed have a hell of a lot less, in future, if I had anything to do with it; that lady I wouldnt touch with gloves and a ten-foot pole. Hes a nice enough guy in himself, Tiberius Claudius, if you make allowances. There again, me, Id settle for sanity.

Too right I would: Gaiuss last six months had been hairy, for all concerned, me included. Perilla had made the right decision after all: Rome and the empire were better without him.

Hows the sleuthing going? You never did tell us how that Surdinus business you were working on before the Festival turned out in the end.

I shrugged. It went OK. I wasnt going to elaborate: Clarus was close-mouthed as they come, but there were some things it was better and safer for him not to know. Him or anyone else, for that matter. More or less. Not one of my best.

You get whoever did it?

Yes. In a way.

He grunted; a very intelligent guy, Clarus, and he knew obfuscation when he saw it. Well enough to drop the subject, certainly.

Anything on at the moment?

Uh-uh, I said. Not that Im complaining. Having a bit of quality time to myself will make a pleasant change.

Which, in retrospect, was a pretty silly thing to say. Considering the number of evil-minded gods hovering around with their ears pricked, it was just plain asking for trouble. But then I always did have a big mouth.

It was well into the afternoon when I rolled back in, by which time the poetry gang had usually dispersed to their respective homes, leaving the Corvinus household a blessedly poetry-free zone.