Three Hands In The Fountain

Meanwhile groups of pale, sad women in mourning garments solemnly laid floral offerings at the Basin of Juturna – the sacred spring where Castor and Pollux were supposed to have watered their horses. Invalids rashly taking the nasty-tasting liquor for their ailments fell back nervous, as these middle-class matrons: deposited their wilting blooms amid much, wailing, then took hands and circled it a dreamy fashion. They weaved their way over to the House of the Vestals. Most of the Virgins would be in their seats of honour at the Circus, but there was bound to be one on duty to attend the sacred flame. She would be used to receiving deputations of well-meaning dames who brought tasteful gifts and earnest prayers but not too much sense.

On the opposite side of the Sacred Way, near the old Rostrum and the Temple of Janus, is the ancient Shrine o: Venus Claocina, the Purifier. This too had its posse of clamouring protesters. Venus definitely needed to gird her beauteous thighs for action.

From a fellow observer I heard that the new hand had been found yesterday in the Claudian Aqueduct, one of the newest, which poured into a collection system near the great Temple of Claudius opposite the end of the Palatine. Thai explained these scenes in the Forum. The citizens of Rome had finally realised that their water contained suspicious fragments that might be poisoning them. Physicians and apothecaries were, being besieged by patients with as many kinds of nausea as a sick Nile crocodile.

The crowd was more noisy than violent. That would not stop the authorities cracking down heavily. The vigiles would have known how to move people on with a few shoves and curses, but, some idiot had called up the Urban Cohorts. These happy, fellows assisted the Urban Prefect, Their, job description is `keeping down the servile element, and curbing insolence'; to do it they are armed with a sword and a knife each, and they don't; mind where they stick' them.

Barracked with the Praetorian Guard, the Urbans are equally arrogant. They love any peaceful demonstration they can mishandle until it turns into a bloody riot. It justifies their existence.; As soon as I glimpsed them marching up in ugly phalanxes, I hopped down the back of the Temple on to the Via Nova and strolled off up the Vicus Tuscus. I managed to leave the troublespot without having my head split open. Others cannot have been so fortunate.

Since I was near to Glaucus' baths, I swerved inside and stayed there in the deserted gymnasium shifting weights and battering a practice sword against a post until the danger had passed. It would, take more than the Urbans to get past Glaucus; when he said `Entry by invitation, only' it stuck.

The streets were quiet again when I emerged. There was not too much blood; on the pavements.

Abandoning: the Games, I headed back, to the office in the faint hope of finding Petronius. As I sauntered along Fountain Court I could see something was up. This was too much excitement for one day. I backtracked immediately to the, barber's; it was illegally open, since men like to look smart on public holidays in the hope that some floozy will fall for them, and anyway the barber in our street usually had no idea of the calendar. I ordered myself a leisurely trim, and surveyed the scene cautiously.

`We're having a visitation,' sneered, the barber, who harboured little respect for authority. His name was Apius, He was fat, florid, and had the worst head of hair; between here and Rhegium. Thin, greasy strands were strung over a flaking scalp. He hardly ever shaved himself either.

He too had noticed the highly unusual presence of some tired lictors. Desperate for shade, they were flopping under the portico outside Lenia's laundry. Women brazenly

stopped to stare at them, probably making coarse jokes. Children crept up giggling, then dared one another to risk their little fingers against the ceremonial axe blades that lurked in the bundles of rods that the lictors had let fall. Lictors are freed slaves or destitute citizens rough, but willing to rehabilitate themselves through work.

`Who rates six?' I asked Apius. The barber always talked as if he knew everything, though I had yet to hear him answer a straight question accurately.

`Someone who wants to be announced a long way ahead of himself.' Lictors traditionally walk in single file in front of the personage they escort.

Six was an unusual number. Two was a praetor or other high official. Twelve meant the Emperor, though he would be escorted by the Praetorians too. I knew Vespasian would be chained to his box at the Circus today.

`A consul,' decided Apius. He knew nothing.' Consuls also had twelve.

`Why would a consul be visiting Lenia?'

`To complain about dirty marks when she returned his smalls?'