'Don't break your heart over it.'
'If I had been here you would have been informed.' Playing the prig was not my style, but his air of resignation annoyed me. 'You can't blame anyone; you're not exactly famous as a paterfamilias!'
'Don't start!'
I hauled myself to my feet. 'Don't worry. I'm off.'
'You haven't tackled what you came to ask.'
'Helena was here; she asks my questions for me.'
'I don't talk to women.'
'Maybe you should try it for once.' Maybe he should have tried it when he was living with my mother.
It had been pointless even coming here. I could not face an argument over Festus; I really was leaving. My father, looking for something he could be awkward about, was furious. 'Right! We've entertained you with a scrap, now you run off and tell your ma you've got your tunic dirty playing on the Campus with the big rough boys.'
In the act of flinging my cloak round me, I paused. This was not helping me solve the Censorinus case. Besides, I did need a story to tell my mother, and I needed it fairly soon. She was renowned for her impatience with slackers. 'There is something I want,' I conceded.
Geminus swung his legs off the couch so he could sit up and stare at me. 'This is a novelty!'
'Wrong. I'm simply on the scrounge. Does your warehouse at the Saepta contain a cheap but decent bed?'
He looked sadly disappointed, but did rouse himself to take me there.
XXIII
The Saepta Julia was a large enclosed area where voting took place. It had been remodelled by the energetic Marcus Agrippa, Augustus's general and son-in-law. Since he could see he would never get a chance to be Emperor himself, he had made his mark in the next best way: by building larger and with more innovation and magnificence than anybody else. He had had a good eye for the best spots to glorify. Much of the modern Campus Martius was his work.
Agrippa had transformed the Saepta from little more than a giant sheep pen to one of the gems in his memorial complex. It now formed an architectual match with the Pantheon and the great Agrippan Baths that sprawled majestically alongside-most famous for having free public entrance. Marcus Agrippa had certainly known how to buy popularity.
The space enclosed by the Saepta was big enough to be used for gladiatorial combats, and had even been flooded for mock sea fights in Nero's day, though that had proved inconvenient for the people who normally worked there. Businessmen are not impressed by having to close their premises to allow in a group of fancy triremes. The enclosing walls, two storeys high, contained a variety of shops, especially goldsmiths and bronze-founders, plus associated folk like my father, who for years had been earning a fortune from the second-hand art and antiques trade.
Because of the political connection there was another side to the place. It would have been useful for me to have my own office in the Saepta; it was where people brought my kind of work. My father's presence was the main reason I kept away from the area, though traditionally the Saepta Julia was where the informers hung out.
I mean the other informers-the ones who had given my business its bad name. Those vermin whose heyday was under Nero, skulking behind temple pillars to overhear unguarded comments from the pious, or even using conversations at private dinner parties to betray their last night's hosts. The political parasites who, before Vespasian purged public life, had put fear into the whole Senate. The slugs who had empowered bad emperors' favourites, and oiled the jealousies of worse emperors' mothers and wives. Gossips whose stock-in-trade was scandal; bastards whose very oath in court could be bought for an emerald eardrop.
Right at the start of my career I had decided that clients who went to the Saepta looking for an informer were not clients who wanted me.
I lost a lot of trade that way.
Leases in the Saepta Julia were at a premium; my father had managed to acquire two. Like Festus, he knew how things were done. I suppose having cash helped, but reputation must also have come into it. Whereas some traders struggled to fit themselves into hole-in-the-wall lock-ups, Geminus had a select suite on the upper floor, where he could stroll out on to the balcony and survey the whole enclosure below, plus a large warehouse at ground level, which was obviously more convenient for delivery of large or heavy items. His office, always stylishly fitted out, adjoined the Dolabrium, where votes were counted-throbbing with life during elections, and pleasantly quiet at other times.
We started downstairs, in his main display area. After the usual attempts to palm me off with three-legged, woodwormy frames and oddly padded couches marked with dubious sickroom stains, I persuaded my parent that if he wanted me to perpetuate the family name it ought to be done on decent equipment. He found me a bed. I refused to pay what he said it was worth, so rather than lose the chance of sharing a grandchild with the illustrious Camillus, he halved the asking price.
'Throw in the mattress, will you. Helena can't sleep on just the webs.'
'I'd like to know where you acquired your cheek!'
'Same place I learned not to sob too much when auctioneers start pretending they are facing bankruptcy.'
He grunted, still fidgeting around my purchase. 'This is pretty plain, Marcus-' The bed had a straightforward beech frame, with boxy ends. I liked the simple scallop ornament that enlivened the headboard. The mere fact it had four feet on the ground would be a luxury in my house. 'I'm having doubts. This is meant to be shoved in a wall niche,' Geminus fussed unhappily.
'I don't want silver legs and tortoiseshell. Why encourage burglars? When can you deliver?'
He looked offended. 'You know the system. Cash down, and buyer collects.'
'Stuff the system! Bring it round as soon as possible and I'll pay you when I see you. I'm still at Fountain Court.'
'That dung heap! Why don't you get a decent job and start honouring your debts? I'd like to see you install that girl of yours in a nice town house with an atrium.'
'Helena can manage without marble corridors and spare stools.'
'I doubt it!' he said. If I was honest, so did I.
'She's looking for a man of character, not libraries and a private lavatory.'
'Oh she's found that!' he sneered. 'All right, I'll have the bed taken to your flea-pit, but don't expect the favour to be repeated. It's not for you I'm doing this… Helena bought an item, so I'll be sending a cart up the Hill anyway.'
It gave me an odd feeling to hear my father, whom I could barely tolerate, speaking of Helena Justina with such familiarity. I had never even introduced them; not that that had stopped him presenting himself behind my back and assuming instant paternal rights. 'What item?' I growled.
He knew he had me. I could have swiped the grin off his face with the nearest besom. 'The girl has taste,' he commented. 'She pipped you on the nail…'
I hated to show my interest, but I had guessed. 'That tripod table! How much did you sting her for?'
He chortled annoyingly.
The porters were bringing back the unsold goods from the interrupted auction. As they hauled in the savaged wall panels I said, 'Whoever buys the house those were ripped from will need the holes repaired. You could send Mico round to offer his services to make good.'
'Make bad, you mean? All right, I'll give him the address.'
'If he's lucky the new owners won't have heard about him. Anyway, his bodging can be covered up before it's noticed. The wall plaster will need painting,' I mused, trying to wheedle out information without him noticing. 'No doubt you were already thinking of a commission for suggesting a panel artist?' My father refused to bite. Like Festus, he could be secretive about business affairs. I tried again. 'I suppose you know all the hack picture painters?'
This time the twinkle in his eye that had once drawn the women appeared. Nowadays it was dry and dark and sceptical. He knew I was prodding at something specific. 'First the bed; now renovation. Are you planning to gild your filthy doss-house like a palace? Careful, Marcus! I hate to see inappropriate ornamentation…'
'Just a few false perspectives,' I joked back feebly. 'A landscape with satyrs for the bedroom and a set of still lifes in the kitchen. Dead pheasants and fruit bowls… Nothing too elaborate.' I was getting nowhere. I had to be direct. 'Helena must have told you. I want to track down a group of daubers I once saw Festus meet at a cheap bar on the lower Caelian. It was a hovel called the Virgin.'
'She told me,' he agreed, like someone refusing to enlighten a small child as to what he might be getting for a Saturnalia gift.
'So do you know them?'
'I'm not aware of it. No jury,' declared my father, 'will convict a man for being kept in ignorance of his son's friends!'
I ignored the jibe. Angrily I burst out, 'I suppose you are also going to tell me you know nothing about the scheme Festus was running just before he died?'
'That's right,' Geminus answered levelly. 'That's exactly what I'll say.'
'You're not talking to Censorinus now!' I reminded him.
'No. I'm talking to you.' This kind of conversation only occurs in families. 'It's a waste of good air,' he grumbled, then stretched abruptly. 'This is typical of you-riding the mule backwards, staring at the tail flicking flies off its arse! I thought we would have come to the soldier half an hour ago, but you do have to dally in the byways pretending you forgot what you were sent to find out-I know you were sent!' he scoffed, as I started interrupting. He knew I would not have come on my own account. 'If we have to rake over old miseries, let's start at the beginning-and let's do it respectably over a drink!'
That was when he gripped me by the elbow as if I had raised a sensitive issue too publicly, and steered me from the open frontage of his warehouse to the discreet haven of his office on the upper floor.
I felt like a man who was about to be sold a fake silver wine-heater with one foot that keeps dropping off.
XXIV
On my very occasional visits I had noticed that my father's office changed in mood and character as he sold off whatever choice pieces adorned it. To this private quarter were brought his most select customers-the ones who had to think themselves special for the next half an hour while he palmed them off with something. Here they were seated on ivory, or chased silver, or sweetly scented oriental woods, while Geminus produced exquisitely decorated cups of spicy wine and told them lies until they found themselves buying more than their budget could afford.
Today he had a suite from Alexandria: delicate painted coffers and sideboards on slim legs, with horned ibis and lotus-flower patterns. To complement the Egyptian look he had dug out some tall peacock fans (permanent props, which I had seen before), and added sumptuously tasselled cushions to the odd, hard couch that had lived there for ever and was not for sale. Behind the couch hung a dark red curtain; behind that, actually bricked into the wall, was his bank box.
Before we talked, he went to the box and stashed the takings from today's auction. I knew his habits about money were methodical. He never opened the bank chest in front of the staff, let alone customers. I was treated differently-one of the few ways he acknowledged that I was family. In my presence he would quietly go to the box and unlock it with the key he kept round his neck on a thong, as if we two, like he and Festus, were in some sort of partnership. But it had only happened since my brother died.
He dropped the curtain hastily as a lad came in bringing the usual galley tray of wine and bowls of almonds. 'Hello, Falco!' grinned the youth, seeing me leaning on a wall like a spare broom. Then he looked uneasy. None of the staff knew quite what to make of me. The first few times I came here I had refused to admit to any relationship; now they all knew I was the master's son, but they could see I was not on the same easy terms as Festus. No one could blame them if they found that hard to understand; faced with my father, I felt confused myself.
Since I was not a customer the lad seemed to have second thoughts about the refreshments, but Papa grabbed at the wine flask, so he left the tray with us. 'That watch captain you know was looking for you, Falco! Some judge wants to interview you.'
Surprised, I threw nuts down my throat too rapidly, then choked. Geminus assumed that knowing look of fathers, though waited for the boy to leave before he spoke: 'Is this about the unpleasantness at Flora's?'
'Do I gather you know that dump?'
I thought he gave me a wry look. The caupona was uncomfortably close to Mother's. 'I've been there a few times.' Flora's had only existed for ten or twelve years; it postdated Pa's return from Capua. But Festus was always hanging round the place. Anyone who knew Festus was bound to have heard of it. 'Helena told me you were being fingered. Sounds as if Petronius is about to step on your tail.'
'He's given me time,' I assured him, like a man of the world who was merely threatened by a creditor who had made him a new cloak and unreasonably wanted payment.
'Oh yes? I do have some influence,' he offered.
'Don't interfere.'
'By the sound of things, you will need bail.'
'It won't come to that.'
'Right.' This was our usual happy repartee. He was hating me and I was enjoying it. 'Let me know when we all have to come to court and cheer while the bastards convict you!' We were silent while he poured wine. I left mine on the shelf where he had placed the cup. 'Oh drink up and don't be so pompous. We've been here before; you're in deep trouble, but you don't want help, especially from me-'
'Oh I want your help!' I snarled. 'I don't expect to get it, but I want to know what in Hades has been going on.'
'Sit down and calm down. You're not in some cheap drinking-house.'
I refused to sit, but forced control into my tone: 'It's obvious something happened before our famous hero speared himself at Bethel. My guess is that you were in it with him, but you hoped the affair had happened too far away to bring repercussions here.'
'It was nothing to do with me.' He made no effort to avoid self-righteousness.
'Then you've no reason to avoid telling me about it! We all have to face the truth,' I said grittily. 'The Fifteenth have been restationed and all the ones we apparently owe money to are making sure they snatch home leave. One man came to stir the porridge pot, and now he's dead someone else is bound to follow. This will not go away.' My father inclined his head dourly, agreeing that point at least, so I carried on. 'Whoever knifed Censorinus may have met him by accident-or they may be in on the story too. If so, I don't fancy meeting them on a dark stair. Somebody in the past must have stepped in a very nasty cow-pat, and now the stink has reached home. At the moment it's attached to me, but you won't be surprised to hear I'm planning on a good wash-down.'
'You need more than a plan.'
I felt my chest tighten. 'Is this guesswork or fact?'
'Bit of both,' said my father.
He was ready to talk. Since the winecup was handy and I hate waste, I grasped it and attached my posterior to a low stool. I had chosen a tight corner, preferring this to greater comfort. Above me a dog-headed god sneered inscrutably down his long snout from the flank of a cupboard. 'We have to discuss Festus,' I insisted in a low voice.
Our father laughed briefly, almost to himself. 'Big subject!' He stared into his wine. We were drinking from small, stupid metal cups, fancy items designed for courtesy, not serious thirst-quenching. He held his between the tips of two fingers and a thumb; he had large hands with stubby fingers, the same shape as my brother's. On his right hand he wore a grand seal ring with a haematite stone and a smaller gold one with the head of a Claudian emperor, an oddly conventional set for a man in his trade who was constantly seeing much finer jewellery. In some ways he was a conventional man, more so than either of his sons.
On his left third finger he still wore his wedding ring; I never knew why. Maybe he never thought about it.
'Marcus Didius Festus…' Geminus furrowed his brow. 'Everyone thought he was special. Maybe he was. Or maybe he just could have been-'
'Don't get maudlin,' I urged impatiently. 'Festus had flair and courage. Big brother thoug
ht nothing of running a business venture from the army, from a thousand miles away. But he must have had a receiver at this end, and you must have been him.'
'We shared some joint investments,' he agreed.
'Like what?'
Geminus waved a hand. 'You're sitting on some of it.' The Egyptian furniture. 'Festus found this when the Fifteenth were in Alexandria. It came in a load that was shipped over just before he died.'
'I didn't see it the last time I was here.'
'No, I've just decided to get rid of it.' I knew selling could be a matter of mood. A man could lose heart extolling his dead partner's treasures; more so when the partner had also been his favourite son. 'When Festus died this just got left. Somehow I couldn't face dealing with it. But when that lag from the Fifteenth came round I took notice again. I don't know why I kept it so long; it's not my style, this lightweight stuff.'
'So where was it?'
'I had it at home.'
At this mention of the house he shared with the woman he had run off with, the atmosphere stiffened. I knew where he lived. I had never been inside, but presumably the dwelling bulged with enticing collectables. 'I thought you might still have a warehouse full of big brother's tasty imports?'
My father looked unreliable. 'There may be a few items at Scaro's old barn.' This was out on the Campagna, on Great-Uncle Scaro's farm, a place Pa had used for long-term storage after he married Ma. (Free use of her brothers' outbuildings was one obvious reason he first took to her.) My father stopped going out there when he abandoned home, but later on Festus took over the barn. 'When I got in touch with your Uncle Fabius he assured me it was virtually empty.'
'Fabius wouldn't recognise a box labelled Bullion! Mind if I take a look some time?'
'You'll go if you want to, whatever I say.'
'Thanks for the warrant!'
'Keep your hands off the stuff, if there is any.'
'I don't steal. Don't forget I'm big brother's executor. Anyway, I'll only go if I'm out of jail. I have a few serious questions to answer for Petronius before I can consider field trips. Look, tell me about Censorinus. I know he was whinging about some project that had failed, but I have no details and I certainly don't know why he was so secretive. Was Festus importing something illegal from Greece?'
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