Making yet another claim that he was an old man, Damagoras retired to rest. I imagined him having more drink, freshly warmed for him with fine spices, and snacks on a galley tray. It would not surprise me if his bed was warmed by a couple of lithe young women, scented with high quality Persian oils and skilled in the performance arts. Very basic pleasures awaited us. We were allowed to stay the night in a guestroom. It had two narrow beds, with a plain coverlet on each, and no exciting comforters. A dusty jug of water, which could have been there since last market day, was the only refreshment. We were no longer prisoners, but they stopped us wandering. We were led to our quarters by slaves; more slaves were hanging about in the corridor every time we tried putting our heads out. There was no chance to explore the villa. In the morning, a minimal breakfast was delivered by a silent wench. We had barely time to wash the crusts down with more brackish water, then we were led outside to find our donkeys waiting. An escort to the gate ensured that we left the property. We did not see Damagoras again.
We could sneak back later," claimed Gaius, emboldened by a night's sleep.
You'll go on your own, then."
Oh right," he capitulated wistfully. Best to be sensible."
Junia will wonder where you are, Gaius."
No, Marcus," my brother-in-law disagreed. Junia will be expecting trouble. She knows I am with you." It was still early when we entered Ostia by the Laurentine Gate. Late night revellers would only just have fallen asleep down in the dingy bars by the Marine Gate; holiday visitors must still be lying in. Traders and regular inhabitants were going about their business. The baths would not open until noon, but thin columns of smoke marked laundries and fullers as their furnaces were brought back to life, while the scent of fresh loaves and rolls wafted delectably from the bakeries. Mullet and sardines were being laid out in rows by fishmongers beneath heavy swordfish, hung head down from metal hooks; baskets of fruit and vegetables were arranged in neat patterns; commodity shops had their big front doors pulled half open while owners sluiced the outside pavement clean. As we rode through the narrow side streets, above our heads busy housewives already had their bedding hung over windowsills to air. I imagined how in the building contractor's house, Junia would be up and bossing the slaves about as she fretted over the missing Gaius Baebius. Hiding in bed, Maia would bury her head against Petro's back, pretending to ignore the bustle. At my apartment, Helena would be lying fully awake, trying not to worry about where I was. Anxious about our reception, both Gaius and I wanted to hurry, but we were delayed by a blocked street. There had been a fire. Early morning was so often the time for gawpers to view the remains of a blaze, a frequent result of lamp-oil accidents. A small crowd had gathered by a burnt-out house from which cindered furniture was still being dragged. The owner slumped on the remains of a ruined chest, with his head in his hands; his wife, deep in shock, simply stared at the blackened frontage of their home.
Looks like they have lost everything!" Gaius Baebius greeted other people's tragedy with relish. We were in a residential district not far from the Forum. It lay some way from the vigiles station house, so maybe there had been no time to summon them when the flames were spotted. Instead of the proper fire brigade, some local men were overseeing the action. They seemed pretty well organised. As we arrived we saw them removing equipment amid the acrid smell of smoke and clouds of filthy dust. We could hear loud crashes of walls and stairs being dismantled with grapplers; presumably they thought the interior had become unstable. They gave the impression that this situation, with civilians in charge, was normal in Ostia. Worn out now, they had become bad-tempered. A group strode into the street and started to move back the crowd; people scattered fast, as if they were expecting rough treatment. Gaius and I were slower to respond.
Shift yourselves, idiots!" The burly brute gave us no chance for backchat. A colleague angrily slapped the donkey Gaius rode; it was a vicious blow, so the donkey reared, tottering almost upright on its back legs. We had our work cut out controlling the beast, while Gaius clung on; then mine played up. It was easiest to carry on down the street, calming our animals as we went. Next we had to mount the pavement and squeeze against house walls as we ran into a short convoy of builders" carts, rattling towards us. They were empty apart from workmen, who were no doubt going to effect demolition. This was all extremely efficient. I could not say why I experienced unease. We returned our donkeys to the hiring stable and I managed to shed Gaius at Maia's house without being lured inside. The last thing I could face was an altercation with Junia. Helena was in fact waiting when I entered our apartment. She was sitting at a table opposite the door, leaning her chin on her hands. She was dressed, in a short-sleeved light blue dress, but with her fine hair loose and minus jewellery. Her great brown eyes met mine, asking if I was safe. I smiled wearily, acquiescing. When I went across to her, I just managed to put down the new bread I had bought, before her arms went tightly around me. I could feel her heart pounding as she absorbed my presence and settled down.
It's all right, fruit. Something delayed us last night."
Oh I knew Gaius Baebius would look after you!" Helena Justina leaned back to inspect the bruises from the hammering I had received from Cratidas. I was home now and as an informer's girlfriend Helena had seen far worse damage. She was almost calm. Only the fierce compression of her lips spoke of hidden emotions.
So he is a pirate," she commented, fingering my sore cheek. While I was away, she must have persuaded Junia to confess what Gaius Baebius knew about Damagoras.
He says he is not." Helena Justina surveyed me with her intelligent dark eyes. Rueful thoughts were working in that clever brain. I think he is a pirate who tells lies."
That will be part of his calling. But he claims he is merely an honest, long-time retired sea captain, who wanted Diocles to help write his life history." Helena took me in her arms again. Against my neck she murmured, so the words tickled me alluringly, A pirate who lies about his past… so did he want the missing ghost-writer to fake his memoirs?" We agreed that it seemed ludicrous. But as Helena and I talked it through, we wondered if Diocles had started the project innocently to make extra cash while on holiday only to discover an unexpected story. Had Damagoras stupidly hired the wrong person? Did the scribe learn something that aroused his investigative instincts, and had he been about to expose a scandal in the Daily Gazette? That could have got him into serious trouble. Would Damagoras then have harmed the scribe? He certainly had cronies, Cratidas, for one, who could be vicious. I went back a stage. Might Diocles all along have suspected there was a story here? Did he come to Ostia deliberately, intending to expose Damagoras? I had allowed the scribe's two colleagues to fob me off regarding his motives, or their colleague might have kept them in the dark on purpose. Either way, I would have to find out for myself whatever the scribe had learned at the villa. I needed more information on Damagoras' background, and I needed it fast.