XLI

I stood up. Very slowly.

“Where do you want him, legate?” He was a small man. As he lurched in from the corridor he was holding my present up by its mouth because he could not get his arms round it: the fish looked almost as long as its deliverer was tall. It was wider than he was.

“Slap him down here…”

The man groaned, leaned back, then launched the fish sideways so it landed across the small table I used to lean my elbows on sometimes. Then, being a game trier, he jumped up and down, each time hauling my slippery present further on. Severina bobbed upright, daunted by a tailfin the size of an ostrich feather fan, which stuck over the edge of the table a foot from her nose.

There was no smell. He was in beautiful condition.

The delivery man seemed to take sufficient pleasure from the drama his arrival had caused—but I decided for once to squeeze out the half-aureus I kept in my tunic for really serious gratuities.

“Thanks, legate! Enjoy your party…” He left, with a much lighter step than when he came.

“Party?” hinted Severina, looking coy. “Are you going to invite me?”

I felt so weak I might have let her persuade me. It would have created a Mount Olympus of complications for myself.

Then the door swung open a second time, to admit someone who never reckoned to knock if there was half a chance of interrupting something scandalous. “Hello Mother!” I cried valiantly.

Ma raked Severina Zotica with the look she reserved for unpleasant squashy things found at the back of dark kitchen shelves. Then she glanced at my extravagant present. “That fishmonger of yours needs a talking-to. When did you start buying by the yard?”

“Must be a mix-up: all I ordered was a cuttlefish.”

“That’s you all over. Palace ideas on pigsty money … You’ll want a big plate.”

I sighed. “I can’t keep this, Ma. I’d better send him as a gift to Camillus Verus; do myself some good that way—”

“It’s one way to show your respect for the Senator … Pity. I could have made a good stock from the bones.” My mother was still blocking Severina out of the conversation, but letting her know that I had influential friends. Redheads always upset my mother. And she generally disapproved of my female clients.

Ma made herself scarce so I could rid us of this inconvenience. “Severina, I’ll have to think about your offer.”

“Will you have to ask your mother?” she sniped.

“No; I have to consult my barber, look up the ‘black days’ on my calendar, sacrifice a beautiful virgin, and peruse the internal organs of a sheep with twisted horns … I know where I can get the sheep, but virgins are harder to come by and my barber’s out of town. Give me twenty-four hours.” She wanted to argue, but I gestured at the turbot so she could see that I was serious about having things to organise.

My mother promptly reappeared, stepping out of Severina’s way with insulting delicacy. Severina retaliated by giving me a much sweeter smile than usual before she closed the door behind her.

“Watch that one,” muttered Ma.

Ma and I gazed sadly at the giant fish.

“I’m bound to regret giving him away.”

“You’ll never get another.”

“I’m itching to keep him—but how could I cook him?”

“Oh I dare say we can improvise…”

“Camillus Verus is never going to approve of me, anyway—”

“No,” agreed Ma, obliquely. “You could invite him to eat some of it.”

“Not here!”

“Invite Helena then.”

“Helena won’t come.”

“She never will if nobody asks her. Have you upset her?”

“Why do you assume it’s my fault? We had a few words.”

“You never change … So that’s settled,” decided my mother. “Just a family party. Mind you,” she added, in case this news had somehow cheered me up, “I always reckon turbot is a tasteless fish.”