Present, though not named in the record, was Anacrites the Chief Spy.
‘Falco!’ His light eyes flickered nervously as he realised that I was alive, and deep in this unexpected enterprise. He did not ask how I had enjoyed his Eastern fiasco. When I was ready I would report to Vespasian personally, and my comments would be unrestrained by loyalty to the man who sent me there.
‘Excuse me,’ I answered coldly. ‘I’m presenting a report…’
Claudius Laeta must have overheard, for he waved Petro and me up close to him; his position was nearest the Emperor. On Vespasian’s behalf he was chairing the meeting. What was said is, of course, confidential. The minutes ran to half a closely written scroll. In confidence, of course, what happened was:
The regular officials conducted business briskly. They were held up sometimes by tribunes holding forth on personal theories that had nothing to do with the issue and were sometimes incomprehensible (unminuted). Once or twice a prefect ventured a trite remark (paraphrased succinctly by the secretary). Petronius Longus gave a clear account of his belief that with the removal of Balbinus some new crime lord had seized the initiative. (This, pretty well verbatim, took up most of the record.) Petro had moved in the course of that morning from a man who was talking his way out of trouble to one who looked a contender for a laurel crown. He took it well. Petronius had the right sceptical attitude.
I found myself being consulted by Vespasian as his expert on life in the streets; I managed to produce some ideas that had a ring of good sense, though I forsaw problems explaining later to Helena Justina exactly what I had said.
Anacrites was suddenly asked by Titus what his professional intelligence team had noticed. He offered nothing but waffle. His team was useless, unaware of pretty well everything that went on in Rome. The Urban Prefect gleefully stepped in and pretended his spies had spotted worrying signs of unrest. Asked to be more specific, he was soon floundering.
It took two hours of debate before the Emperor was satisfied. The problem – if it existed – was to be tackled with energy (though no extra men would be drafted in). The Prefect of the Vigiles would co-ordinate a special investigation, reporting to the Urban Prefect, who would report to Titus Caesar. Petronius Longus, reporting to Rubella, reporting to the Prefect of the Vigiles, would identify the Emporium thieves, then evaluate whether they were a one-time strike or a more widespread threat. He had the right to advise any cohort tribune of a perceived danger in a particular sector, and all had a duty to assist him if required.
Anacrites was allocated no activity, though as a courteous gesture Titus said it was assumed the intelligence network would ‘keep a watching brief’. We all knew this traditional phrase. It meant they were to keep out of the way.
As an exceptional measure only (this was heavily stressed by Vespasian), compensation would be offered to those traders at the Emporium who had lost goods last night, so long as their names appeared on the official list. Martinus had brought this for Petronius, sent in via a flunkey. Vespasian, who knew how to dodge fiddles, told a copy clerk to duplicate the list for him immediately.
I found myself assigned as a supernumerary officer, to work alongside Petronius. As usual with meetings, I came away not entirely clear what I was supposed to do.
XII
‘So Marcus, you went out for a quiet stroll up and down the Forum,’ mused Helena, passing a platter of cheese savouries to Silvia. ‘By the time you came home, there was a major epidemic of crime, an imperial commission, and both of you hearty fellows had become special-enquiry officers?’
‘Beats shopping for radishes,’ I commented, though since we had guests, I had done that too. A householder has to be versatile.
‘Working together will be nice for them,’ remarked Arria Silvia. Petro’s wife was petite and pretty. A bright, dainty girl with ribbons binding her hair, she was the kind I had once thought I wanted – until Petro acquired Silvia. She had a habit of stating the obvious; I suppose he found it comforting. They had been married for about seven years, and with three children to secure them in affection (or whatever it was), the union looked likely to last. I had therefore decided to put aside my reaction to Silvia. Which was that she brought me out in a rash.
Helena seemed able to get along with her, though their friendship lacked the warmth that I had noticed flowering naturally between Helena and my sister Maia, for instance. ‘I hope you two won’t quarrel,’ Helena said to me, smiling quietly. The shrewd one, mine. Whether or not he recognised what she meant, Petronius did not respond but went out to the balcony, where he lifted up his eldest daughter so she could pee into one of my pots of bulbs. This would probably kill them but I said nothing. He was a competent, uncomplicated father. A lesson to all of us.
I had the other two girls on my lap, playing with toys we had brought them. We were a happy party, stuffed with food and still enjoying a fine wine Petronius had donated from his extensive collection. Petro and Silvia had spent the early evening with us, laughing over stories of our travels in Syria. Friends do so love to hear about you suffering from ghastly climates, crooked moneychangers, and intense pain from poisonous arachnids. Saves them going on holiday themselves.
There had been so much to say about the scorpion nipping Helena and other lively memories that she and I had managed to avoid mentioning the one item that Silvia would think important: that we too might become a family.
I won’t say Helena and I were sneakily pleased to keep it a secret. It was too much of an issue; we were not ready to laugh about it. But we were close enough friends for Helena to let me see her wry expression as Silvia prattled cheerfully about her own little girls. Silvia was hinting that it was about time Helena started to feel jealous yearnings. Eventually I caught Helena’s eye privately and winked at her. Silvia saw me do it. She shot a mock-scandalised look at Petronius, thinking I was being amorous. Petro pretended, as usual, that he had no idea at all what was going on.
The wink remained as a moment of stillness between Helena and me.
* * *
The women were taking a greater interest in our new task than either Petro or I wanted. Silvia had realised that Helena Justina was used to more free consultation than Petronius allowed her. She plunged in, picking over issues as tenaciously as she had earlier torn apart her chicken wings in peppered wine sauce.
Petronius and I had been allies for a long time. While Silvia speculated, we just talked quietly among ourselves.
‘I want you to come over the road later, Petro. There’s a property Smaractus is offering on the market. It’s a dump, but a better one than this if it was done up a bit.’
‘Done up a bit?’ Petro squinted at me as if he had just caught me stealing wine jars from caupona counters. ‘Will Smaractus invest in improvements?’
‘No, but I’m determined to find another place for us, even if I have to renovate a wreck myself.’
‘I’ve not heard about this!’ said Helena, taking one of Petro’s girls from me. The other scampered off to play on the balcony. ‘Shouldn’t I be the one to inspect the real estate?’
‘And why can’t you find another landlord?’ Silvia put in.
I grinned at Helena. ‘The person who needs to inspect it is the kind associate who will be helping me install the new windows and floorboards!’
‘Forget it!’ exclaimed Petro, looking appalled.
‘You’re a good carpenter.’
Helena laughed. ‘And he was a good friend!’
‘I’m going to have my hands full with this initiative against the Emporium thieves,’ said Petronius firmly. Sometimes he would help out in my crazy schemes; sometimes he didn’t want to know. I let it drop. He was too stubborn to change his mind.
‘So why has our bijou niche here lost its charm after so long?’ Helena asked with the air of a Fury lightly fingering her scourge.
‘I’m getting old. My legs are hating the stairs.’ My beloved gave me a very sweet smile that meant I was toying with serious trouble.
‘You should try it with three children hanging round your neck!’ Silvia’s remark was too close for comfort; I was dreading it with just one, particularly on Helena’s behalf in the long months before our shrimp was born. I could already hear helpful relatives suggesting she should live somewhere more accessible, hoping that would be the first step to her leaving me for good.
Presumably Helena realised why I wanted a better billet. She leant back on her stool, cradling Tadia, and gave me a long stare. It was a challenge to tell Petro and Silvia the situation we were in. I returned the stare but stayed silent.
‘Now doesn’t Helena look good holding a baby!’ Silvia rebuked me, clearly not even suspecting the truth. I had denied it to Petro, and he must have passed this on. Feeling mild pangs of guilt on his behalf, I condescended to survey Helena. She was wearing blue, with a tasteful row of bracelets covering her scarred arm, and silver earrings on which I had squandered a week’s earnings one day in Palmyra just because I knew she was enjoying herself travelling the world with me.
She did look good. She looked healthy, calm and sure of herself. As she gripped the child – who was trying to fling herself to the floor to see if landing hard on boards would hurt – Helena’s big brown beautiful eyes sent me another dare.
I stayed calm. I never let Silvia see how much she annoyed me. And I tried not to let Helena discover how her challenges made me feel jittery. ‘The first time I ever saw Helena she was holding a child.’
‘I don’t remember that.’
‘The British procurator’s daughter.’
‘Oh, Aunt Camilla’s eldest!’ She did remember now; her blush told me. ‘Flavia.’
‘Flavia!’ I agreed, grinning at her. I could see she had recalled the scene: a polite family group, educated after-dinner people discussing whether it might rain the next day, then I prowled in, newly landed in the province, flexing my class prejudice and intending to break bones if anyone offered me any pleasantries.
‘What was he doing?’ giggled Silvia.
‘Scowling,’ replied Helena patiently. ‘He looked as if a Titan had just stepped on his foot and crushed his big toe. I was staying with nice people who had been very kind to me, then this hero turned up, like Milo of Croton looking for a tree to split with his fist. He was exhausted, miserable and exasperated by his work –’
‘Sounds normal!’
‘But he still managed to be rude to me.’
‘The lout!’
‘In a way that made me want to –’
‘Go to bed with me?’ I offered.
‘Prove you wrong!’ Helena roared, still hot-headed at the thought.
When I met her in Britain she had thoroughly overturned me: I had started out believing her stuck-up, strict, ill-humoured, uncharitable and untouchable; then I fell for her so hard I was barely able to believe my luck when she did go to bed with me.
‘And what were you after, Falco?’ Silvia was half hoping for a salacious answer.
I wanted Helena as my partner for life. That was too shocking to mention to a prim little piece like Silvia. I reached for the fruit bowl and savagely bit a pear.
* * *
‘We’re still waiting to hear about this task you two have for the Emperor!’ Making Silvia change the subject was simplicity itself. If you ignored one remark she came out with something different. That did not mean you liked it better.
I saw Petro frown slightly. We both wanted to let things ride. We still had to manoeuvre for position, and we didn’t need women helping us.
‘Which of you is taking the lead in this venture?’ Helena asked curiously. She could always find really awkward questions.
‘I am,’ said Petro.
‘Excuse me!’ I had wanted to sort this out privately with him, but we were now trapped. ‘I work independently. I don’t take orders from anyone.’
‘I’m head of the special enquiry,’ said Petro. ‘You’ll have to work with me.’
‘My commission comes direct from Vespasian. He always gives me a free hand.’
‘Not in my district.’
‘I hadn’t foreseen any conflict.’
‘You hadn’t been thinking then!’ muttered Helena.
‘There’s no conflict,’ Petronius said calmly.
‘Oh no. It’s all pretty clear. You intend to be planning the work, giving the orders and leading the team. That leaves me sweeping the office.’
Suddenly he grinned. ‘Sounds fair – and I suppose you’re competent!’
‘I can wield a broom,’ I agreed, though I was conceding nothing.
‘We can work something out,’ Petronius murmured airily.
‘Oh we can operate in tandem. We’ve been friends for a long time.’ That was why it was impossible for either of us to be in sole charge, of course. Helena had seen that immediately.
‘Of course,’ confirmed Petro, with the briefest of smiles.
Nothing was settled, but we left it at that to avoid a furious argument.
XIII
Fountain Court on a quiet October evening had its usual soiled and sultry charm. A faint pall of black smoke from the lampblack ovens drifted languidly five feet above the lane looking for passers-by with clean togas or tunics to smudge. Amidst its acrid tang lingered scents of sulphur from the laundry and rancid fat frying. Cassius the baker had been making veal pies earlier – with too much juniper by the smell. Above us people had hung bedding over their balconies, or sat there airing their fat backsides over a parapet while they shouted abuse at members of their family hidden indoors. Some idiot was hammering madly. A weary young girl staggered past us, almost unable to walk under the weight of the long garlands of flowers she had spent all day weaving for dinner parties in louche, wealthy homes.
A thin scruffy dog sat outside Lenia’s, waiting for someone soft-hearted it could follow home.
‘Don’t look,’ I commanded Helena. I took her hand as we crossed the dusty street to ask Cassius to give us the key to the empty apartment.
Cassius was a genial fellow, though he had never deigned to notice that Helena Justina was attached to me. He sold her loaves, at more or less reasonable prices; he chucked me the occasional stale roll while we swapped gossip. But even when Helena appeared in his shop with her noble fist grasped in mine, Cassius gave no acknowledgement that he was addressing a couple. He must regard us as unsuitable; well, he was not alone. I thought we were unsuitable myself – not that that would stop me.
‘Ho, Falco!’
‘Got the key for upstairs?’
‘What idiot wants that?’
‘Well, I’ll have a look –’
‘Hah!’ chipped Cassius, as if I had dared to suggest one of his whole grain crescent baps had a spot of 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!’
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.
Time to Depart Page 8
