mould.
Refusing to be put off, we made him go for the key, which had been abandoned for so long he had lost it somewhere behind a mountain of sacks in his flour store. While we waited for him to track down the nail he had hung it on, I hunted for interesting crumbs in the bread roll display baskets, and grinned at Helena.
'It's right, you know. You looked quite at home that time I saw you with Aelia Camilla's little girl. A natural!'
'Flavia was not my child,' said Helena, in a cold voice.
Cassius came back, armed with an iron key the size of a ratchet on some dockyard winding gear. Being nosy, he made sure he kept hold of it and came with us up the dilapidated stone steps beside his shop. Not many of the treads were completely broken away; if you kept near the wall it was almost safe. Using both hands, Cassius struggled to turn the key in a rusted lock. Failing, we discovered the easiest way in was to push open the back edge of the door and squeeze through the matted spiderwebs that had been acting as hinges.
It was very dark. Cassius boldly crossed to a window and threw back a shutter; it dropped off in his hand. He cursed as the heavy wood crashed to the floor, leaving splinters in his fingers and grazing his leg on the way.
'Frankly,' Helena decided at once, 'this seems a bit too elegant for us!'
It was out of the question. Deeply depressed, I insisted on seeing everything.
'Who lives upstairs, Cassius?'
'No one. The other apartments are even worse than this. Mind you, I saw some old bag woman poking round this afternoon.'
Disaster. The last thing we needed was vagrants for close neighbours. I was trying to become more respectable.
Huge sheets of plaster hung away from the wall slats, which themselves bowed inwards alarmingly. The floors dipped several inches every time we trod the boards, which we did very delicately. The joists must have gone. Since the floor joists should have been tying the whole building together, this was serious. All the internal doors were missing. So, as Lenia had warned me, was the floor in the back rooms.
'What's that down there?'
'My log store,' said Cassius. True. We could see the logs through his ceiling. Presumably when Cassius was loading his oven, sometime before dawn, anyone upstairs would hear him rolling the logs about.
The place was derelict. We would not be asking for a lease from Smaractus. Cassius lost interest and left to tend his leg, which was now bleeding badly. 'Is this your dog down here, Falco?'
'Certainly not. Chuck a rock at him.'
'It's a girl.'
'She's still not mine - and she's not going to be!'
XIV
Helena and I stayed, too dispirited to shift. She gazed at me. She knew exactly why I was looking at property, but unless she acknowledged being pregnant, she could not discuss my project. For once, I had the upper hand.
'Sorry,' I said.
'Why? Nothing's lost.'
'I was convinced this dump had been on the market so long I could walk in and pay Smaractus in old nuts!
'Oh, he'd be delighted to find a tenant!' Helena laughed. 'Can we mend it? You're very practical, Marcus -'
'Jupiter! This needs major building work - it's far beyond my scope.'
'I thought you liked a challenge?'
'Thanks for the faith! This whole block should be torn down. I don't know why Cassius sticks it. He's risking his life every day.' Like much of Rome.
'At least we could get fresh bread,' Helena pretended to muse. 'We could reach down through the floor for it without getting out of bed . .
'No, we can't live above a bakery. Apart from the fire risk-'
The oven is separate, in the street.'
'So are the mills, with a damned donkey braying and the endless rumble of grinding querns! Don't fool about, lady. Think of the cooking smells. Bread's fine, but when Cassius has baked his loaves he uses the ovens to heat offal pies in nasty gravy for the entire street. I should have thought of that'
Helena had wandered to the window. She stood on tiptoe, leaning out for the view, while she
Refusing to be put off, we made him go for the key, which had been abandoned for so long he had lost it somewhere behind a mountain of sacks in his flour store. While we waited for him to track down the nail he had hung it on, I hunted for interesting crumbs in the bread roll display baskets, and grinned at Helena.
'It's right, you know. You looked quite at home that time I saw you with Aelia Camilla's little girl. A natural!'
'Flavia was not my child,' said Helena, in a cold voice.
Cassius came back, armed with an iron key the size of a ratchet on some dockyard winding gear. Being nosy, he made sure he kept hold of it and came with us up the dilapidated stone steps beside his shop. Not many of the treads were completely broken away; if you kept near the wall it was almost safe. Using both hands, Cassius struggled to turn the key in a rusted lock. Failing, we discovered the easiest way in was to push open the back edge of the door and squeeze through the matted spiderwebs that had been acting as hinges.
It was very dark. Cassius boldly crossed to a window and threw back a shutter; it dropped off in his hand. He cursed as the heavy wood crashed to the floor, leaving splinters in his fingers and grazing his leg on the way.
'Frankly,' Helena decided at once, 'this seems a bit too elegant for us!'
It was out of the question. Deeply depressed, I insisted on seeing everything.
'Who lives upstairs, Cassius?'
'No one. The other apartments are even worse than this. Mind you, I saw some old bag woman poking round this afternoon.'
Disaster. The last thing we needed was vagrants for close neighbours. I was trying to become more respectable.
Huge sheets of plaster hung away from the wall slats, which themselves bowed inwards alarmingly. The floors dipped several inches every time we trod the boards, which we did very delicately. The joists must have gone. Since the floor joists should have been tying the whole building together, this was serious. All the internal doors were missing. So, as Lenia had warned me, was the floor in the back rooms.
'What's that down there?'
'My log store,' said Cassius. True. We could see the logs through his ceiling. Presumably when Cassius was loading his oven, sometime before dawn, anyone upstairs would hear him rolling the logs about.
The place was derelict. We would not be asking for a lease from Smaractus. Cassius lost interest and left to tend his leg, which was now bleeding badly. 'Is this your dog down here, Falco?'
'Certainly not. Chuck a rock at him.'
'It's a girl.'
'She's still not mine - and she's not going to be!'
XIV
Helena and I stayed, too dispirited to shift. She gazed at me. She knew exactly why I was looking at property, but unless she acknowledged being pregnant, she could not discuss my project. For once, I had the upper hand.
'Sorry,' I said.
'Why? Nothing's lost.'
'I was convinced this dump had been on the market so long I could walk in and pay Smaractus in old nuts!
'Oh, he'd be delighted to find a tenant!' Helena laughed. 'Can we mend it? You're very practical, Marcus -'
'Jupiter! This needs major building work - it's far beyond my scope.'
'I thought you liked a challenge?'
'Thanks for the faith! This whole block should be torn down. I don't know why Cassius sticks it. He's risking his life every day.' Like much of Rome.
'At least we could get fresh bread,' Helena pretended to muse. 'We could reach down through the floor for it without getting out of bed . .
'No, we can't live above a bakery. Apart from the fire risk-'
The oven is separate, in the street.'
'So are the mills, with a damned donkey braying and the endless rumble of grinding querns! Don't fool about, lady. Think of the cooking smells. Bread's fine, but when Cassius has baked his loaves he uses the ovens to heat offal pies in nasty gravy for the entire street. I should have thought of that'
Helena had wandered to the window. She stood on tiptoe, leaning out for the view, while she