Three Hands In The Fountain

I watched the damsel work herself up 'to insult me. I was too calm. She was finding it hard work having a one person quarrel. Some of the women I knew could have given her lessons, but under the finery this one was a dull girl of twenty who had been brought up away from the world. She owned everything she wanted, yet she knew nothing. Being rich, even now that she was married she was still kept indoors most of the time. Of course that explained Petronius: when women' are locked up, trouble soon comes to them. In the good old Roman tradition Milvia's only source of excitement was her secret lover's visits.

`You have no right to invade my house upsetting me! You can leave now, and don't come again!' The gold granulations in her hairdressing flashed as she tossed her head angrily.

I raised one eyebrow. I must have looked weary, instead of impressed. She tossed her head again – a sure sign of her immaturity. An expert would have brought out some devious alternative effect.

`Dazzling!' I mocked. 'I will leave but only because I was intending to anyway.' And so I did. Then, of course, Milvia looked sorry that her drama was over.

I had been lying when I' had suggested she ought to be the one who ended the affair. If he wanted to do it, Petronius could' easily crack down the fortress gates in her face. He had had enough practice.

The only problem was that so many people' were telling him to do it that. they kept reviving his interest. My' old friend Lucius Petronius Longus had always hated' being told what to do.

Of course somebody told him I had been there… My bet was Milvia herself. For some reason the spectacle of his loyal friend selflessly trying to protect him from disaster did not fill Lucius Petronius with warmth towards the loyal friend. We had a blistering row.

This made working together uncomfortable, though we persisted, since neither of us would concede that he was to blame and should withdraw from the partnership. I knew the quarrel wouldn't last. We were both too annoyed by people reminding us that they had told us it wouldn't work. Sooner or later we would make it, up, to prove the doubters wrong.

Anyway, Petro and I had been friends since we were eighteen. It would take more than a silly young, woman to drive us apart.

`You sound like; his wife,' Helena scoffed.

`No, I don't. His wife has told him to take a long hike to Mesopotamia, and then jump in the Euphrates with a sack over his head.'

`Yes, I heard they had another amiable chat this week.'

`Silvia brought him a notice of divorce.'

`Mafia told me Petro threw it back at her.'

`It's not essential she delivers it.' Informing the other party by notice was a polite gesture. Bitter women could always turn it into a drama. Especially women with hefty

dowries to be reclaimed. `She drove him out and refuses; to let him go home; that's enough evidence of her intention to separate. If they live apart much longer a notice will be superfluous.'

Petronius and Silvia had left each other before. It normally lasted a day or two and endedwhen whoever had stayed away from the house went home to feed the cat. This time the split had begun months ago. They were well dug in now. They had in effect positioned palisades – and surrounded themselves with triple ditches filled with stakes. Making a truce was going to be difficult.

Undaunted by one failure, I forced myself to visit Arria Silvia. She too had heard that I had been to plead with Milvia. She sent me packing in double time.

It was another wasted effort that just made the situation worse. At least since Petro refused to speak to me I was spared hearing what he thought of my taking a peace mission to his wife.

It was now September. In fact Petro and I had had our quarrel on the first day of the month, the Kalends, which as Helena pointed out wryly was the festival of Jupiter the Thunderer. Apparently passers-by in Fountain Court who overheard Petro and me exchanging opinions had believed the god had come to stay on the Aventine.

Three days later, also in honour of Jupiter Tonans, began the Roman Games.

The two young Camillus brothers used their aristocratic influence – which meant they found a lot of sesterces – to acquire good tickets for the first day. There were always debenture-holders with reserved seats who passed them on to touts. Descendants of military heroes, who sold off their hereditary seats. Descendants of heroes tend to be mercenary – unlike the heroes of course. So Helena's brothers acquired seats, and they obligingly took us. For me, sitting down with a decent view made a change from squashing into the unreserved terraces.

Young Claudia Rufina was being formally introduced to the Circus in Rome watching- scores of gladiators being sliced up while the Emperor snored discreetly in his gilded box and the best pickpockets in the world worked the crowds would show her what a civilised city her intended marriage had brought her to. A sweet girl, she tried her best to look overwhelmed by it all.