'So Flavia Fronta!' I was trying hard not to remember her as the grimy purveyor of sex and bad temper that I had seen twice at the Shower of Gold. The Atrebatans were observing me. Access to their witness was only granted on condition they watched to see that I did not extract new clues from her unfairly. It put my methods under closer scrutiny than I liked. 'I understand you are now giving a statement about the death of Verovolcus?'
'Yes sir, that was terrible.' I nearly choked with laughter at her change of tune. She was quiet, dutiful and respectful. Frankly, I thought she was lying through her teeth.
'Tell me, please.'
Civilisation had a lot to answer for. She had come up with a painful new speaking accent. In these affected vowels, she recited the evidence as if tutored: 'A British man I had never seen before came to our bar that evening and sat down with Splice and Pro.'
'Did you hear what they talked about?'
'Yes, sir. The British man wanted to join in their business – which is rather unpleasant, as you probably know. They did not want to let him in on it.'
'So they were not all friendly together?'
'No. They had met him to complain about his interest. He offered to work with them, but they laughed at him. He said, he was from this province and would do what he liked in Londinium. They soon showed him how wrong he was. You know what happened. They tipped him up and pushed him in the well.'
'Did none of you try to stop them?'
'I was too scared. The owner would not interfere.'
'Was he paying Pyro and Splice for protection?'
'Oh yes. He's terrified of them.'
'Tyro and Splice are well known at your bar? And you consider them violent?'
'Yes, sir. Very violent.'
'And what about the third man, their companion?'
'He comes in sometimes.'
'How do you regard him?'
'Someone to avoid very carefully.'
'And who is he?'
'I only know he comes from Rome, sir.'
'You think he is a leader of the gang?'
'Oh yes. Everybody knows he is; he brought Pyro and Splice and other people over to Britain. They have always worked for him. He runs everything.'
'And let's be quite sure – he was the man giving the orders, the night Verovolcus was killed? Did you yourself hear him do that?'
'Yes, he said: "Do the deed, boys!" And so they did.' Did he go out into the yard where the well was?'
'No, he just sat at the table where he was. And smiled,' shuddered Flavia Fronta. 'That was horrible…'
'I'm sorry I have to ask you to remember. Now when this man gave them that order, Pyro and Splice knew exactly what to do? They must have discussed it beforehand?'
'Yes. The man could not believe it was happening to him. I'll never forget the look in his eyes…' Her expression of pity for Verovolcus seemed genuine. The Atrebatans glanced at each other, nervous of the chilling, deliberate violence she described. They had all known Verovolcus, presumably.
I pursed my lips. 'This organiser is an evil man. We badly need to know who he is. It is a shame you have no idea of his name.'
'Oh don't I?' the woman asked, enjoying herself.
I paused. 'You told me all you know is that he comes from Rome.'
'That's right,' said Flavia Fronta. 'But I do know his name.'
For a blissful moment, I thought she was going to tell me. No such luck. Working in a downtown bar had taught the lady basic self-preservation. She gave me a whimsical smile. 'Now go on – you must think I'm daft! If you stick Pyro and Splice in court then yes, I'll give evidence. After I'm safe in my own little wine shop, far away down south, then I'll tell you who the big man is.'
I managed to keep my temper. I did wonder whether to hand over this self-satisfied baggage to Amicus. But I came from Rome; I knew how tough women could be. She was just the sort to become his first non-responsive victim and thwart us.
'You're very wise,' I told her with admiration. Let me give you a warning, however. Pyro is dead. He died last night; it seems this gang have a long reach, and they got to him even in the official residence.' She looked worried. 'If anything happens to Splice now – or if he confesses voluntarily when tortured – you will be left with no bargaining power.' She looked really worried. 'King Togidubnus will have no need for gratitude; there will be no wine bar in the south. If I were in your shoes…' I glanced down, and yes, the Atrebatans had bought the frowsty dame a pair of new patterned footgear in which to cram her misshapen hooves. 'Then I would co-operate at once.'
Flavia Fronta was watching me thoughtfully.
'We are going to find this man anyway,' I bragged. Maybe it was even true. 'But speed matters. That's where your help could be invaluable.' She was still silent. I shrugged. 'Of course, it is your choice.'
Never underrate the appeal of choice for those whose lives have, until then, lacked any chance of it. Flavia Fronta half covered her mouth with a nervous hand. Then she whispered, 'His name is Florius.'
XXXIX
Florius! So this was the Balbinus mob again. Florius must be the second man Petronius was hunting, the one he had already chased for a long time. It had seemed personal: well, he and Florius certainly had reasons for a feud. Petro had slept with the little Florius wife – which led to the breakdown not of their marriage, but his own.
I racked my brains to remember what I knew. I had met Florius – back in the days when he seemed like a worthless and harmless hanger-on. His marriage to a gangster's daughter was incongruous; Florius, a shambling, feeble, untidy bundle who spent his days at the races, gave the impression that he had been chosen as Balbina Milvia's bridegroom simply because he was a soft pudding the family could push around. It had looked like a ploy to protect her father's money. If her papa were arrested, his property would be forfeit, but Roman law has a fine respect for marriage; if Milvia's dowry chests were labelled 'sheets and coverlets for the bride and her future children' they would probably be sacrosanct.
Petronius and I had chased down Balbinus, whose vicious gangs had been terrorising Rome. We eliminated him, incurring the hatred of his widow. Petro then complicated everything when he decided to bed dear little Milvia. She was ten years younger than him and thought he was serious; she even talked of them marrying. Florius cannot have taken that well – if he knew – which he probably did, because Milvia was dim enough to tell him everything. If she hadn't, her spiteful mother would have done. I had heard that the mother then made the married couple stick together (to protect the money) but life in their house must have been a strain ever since.
If Florius really had been a soft blob, there would have been no problem. But I could remember watching how he straightened up after his father-in-law died. His moment had come. Florius immediately started plotting to take over. Remnants of the Balbinus organisation still existed, though weakened. Florius would be welcomed. Underworld associates love crime lords' relatives; they have a big sense of history. His mother-in-law, Flaccida, was hoping to regenerate the family empire and when Petronius Longus rebuffed pretty Milvia, even Milvia may then have supported Florius' new career. Being married to the top enforcer would suit her. She had always claimed to be unaware of her late father's occupation – but she loved the money.
Florius threw himself into racketeering. His dead father-in-law had shown him how to do it. His rise must have been swift. The description of that third man ordering Pyro and Splice to dispose of Verovolcus, while he was callously sitting tight, showed a totally different character from the vague lump absorbed in his betting tokens whom I had first met. Florius was now a full villain.
I myself saved up tangling with crime lords for special occasions, days when I wished to toy with suicide. But Petronius presumably kept his eye on the reviving gang.
He wanted to finish what he and I had started. He was planning to obliterate them. They probably knew his intentions.
I feared for him in Britain. Here, Petronius stood on his own. At least in
Rome, with the seven vigiles cohorts in support, he had had some chance. The best back-up on offer in Londinium was me. And I had only just learned of the predicament. With the old Balbinus mob, a mere hour was enough for them to pounce and tear a victim apart.
So Florius was here. That meant Petronius Longus was virtually standing at the gateway to Hades, ready to tramp in after the guide with the downturned torch.
What was I to do? Find him. Tell him Florius was in Britain.
I guessed he knew. I hoped he did. That was probably why he had been sent here himself. So, find him and give him some cover – but where would he be?
I considered all our leads. The henchman, Splice, had been marched off to custody among the troops, awaiting the torturer. Top suspects Norbanus and Popillius were being watched by the governor's men. Florius would be Petro's priority. I crossed town, and headed for the wharves. I guessed Petro would be at the warehouse where the baker had been murdered. But he was not. I found Firmus, the customs man, who freely showed me what he and Petro thought had been the killing ground. He led me to one of many great stores that fringed the shore. Totally anonymous in the packed row of identical buildings, I could see why the gang chose it. It was sturdily constructed, fully secure for money or contraband. There was easy access, by water or even by road. All sorts of characters frequented the docks, too. Even hardened criminals from Rome – who tend to have distinctive habits and style – would merge in. Down here by the river, nobody would think twice if there were frequent movements in and out. And when they killed someone, nobody would hear the screams.
'Petronius was here at first light,' said Firmus. 'He wanted to talk to the ferryman – but the ferryman's gone sick.'
'What with?' I asked, knowing the answer.
'Fear.'
'Didn't Petronius try to find him?'
'I think he tried. No luck. After that Petro disappeared.'
I gazed at him. 'So how will you get in touch with him if something happens at this warehouse?'
'It's not my job,' Firmus demurred. 'We are only keeping watch, as a personal favour to Petronius.'
'His famous charm!'
'He's a good sort,' said Firmus. Well, I knew that. 'He's doing a good job, that none of us would like to tackle. Maybe he's stupid, but you can tell he's the kind who thinks somebody ought to do what he's doing, and if it's not him it will end up being nobody.'
'True.' I balked at following the logic, but his feelings were clear.
'The customs service doesn't have the manpower for this operation,' Firmus insisted. 'Nor any support from higher-up.' The pleasant, sunburned, roly-poly officer was sounding bitter now. 'They see us as petty clerks, just turning over tax. We know what happens. We tell the ones in charge. They just pay us cobnuts and won't even supply elementary weapons. We told the governor there is a large-scale operation working here, Falco. That poor sod the baker was murdered on my patch. But I've given up sticking my head over the fortress parapet.'
I gave him a look.
Firmus was unrepentant. 'I'm not being paid danger money,' he said baldly.
'Don't you get military support?'
'You are joking! So why should I and my men be stuffed, while the soldiers just play around and take backhanders from everyone?'
'Including from criminals?'
Firmus exploded. 'Especially the criminals!'
I let him rave. If he told me any more I was liable to get wound up myself.
'I'll mention you, if I see Petro,' Firmus relented.
I nodded. 'Thanks. Now tell me something, Firmus. If the criminal action happens on the wharves, why is my friend Petronius Longus spending time at that bath house several streets up the hill?'
Firmus pursed his lips. 'It's a nice bath house… Excellent manicure girl. Blonde. Well, sort of.' He came clean. 'He's watching someone. Someone who uses that stinky brothel next to the baths.'
'What, as a customer?'
'No, no. He's a flesh peddler. It's his local office.'
I caught on. 'And this someone features big in the gang?'
A guarded look clouded the customs officer's normally open face. 'I believe so.'
I took a chance. 'We know who it is. I need to find Petro to warn him and to back him up. We are looking for a top man called Florius.'
'Well, good for you,' commented Firmus, in a distinctly quiet voice. He had known all along. I wondered how many others also knew, but were too scared to say.
XL
Petronius was not at the baths. The man in charge accepted that I was a friend, and said he thought Petro had gone back over to the residence. There, Helena told me I had missed him. 'I may be wrong, Marcus, but I thought he was looking for Maia.' Helena was watching me closely.
'Did he find her?' I asked in a non-committal tone. 'No, she had gone out.'
I checked both their rooms. Petro's was exactly as I had seen it that morning when I wanted to tell him about Pyro's death. Maia's looked as if a troop of wild monkeys had run through it; still, that was usual for her. She kept a well-run home, but her own quarters were always a tip. She had been the same since she was a girl – clothes strewn everywhere, lids open on boxes, and dried-up face paint mixed weeks ago in shells. Partly it was because she never spent any time there. Until that bastard Anacrites made her hunted and shrewish, she was too gregarious, always out and about.
A potted plant, some feeble British thing, all leaves, stood on a side table. 'Now I wonder where that came from?' Sharp-eyed, Helena had noticed it. She had come up behind me, curious what I was thinking.
'Is it new?'
'Some love gift to Maia from Norbanus?' Helena speculated.
'So it's gardening now. Will he stand more chance with foliage than with his sinister harpist?'
'She sent the harpist back this morning,' said Helena, as if she thought I might have had something to do with it. 'The plant may be from someone else…'
'So where's she gone? I hope she's not playing at country life with Norbanus in his villa.'
'I doubt it.'
'She told me she would.'
Helena smiled. 'She tells you a lot of nonsense. This villa seems rather odd, in any case. Marcus, the man who tailed the carrying-chair, came back this morning and reported to Uncle Gaius.'
'And you just happened to be talking to your uncle at the right moment…?' I grinned.
Helena smiled again, serenely. 'Norbanus lives in the northern part of town. According to the neighbours, he stays in Londinium every day. They were surprised even to hear he has a villa on the river. It sounds as if he never goes there.'
'Why is he so keen to show it off to Maia then?' Was it purely his love nest for seductions? I preferred not to think about that. 'What do these neighbours say of him?'
'A very ordinary man.'
'Informers know that no man is ordinary.'
'Well, all men think they are special,' Helena retorted. I grinned. Luckily I liked her to be prejudiced. 'What about this one?'
'Norbanus lives quietly. Talks to people pleasantly. Speaks fondly and frequently of his widowed mother. Pats dogs. Eats lunch at a local food shop. Is respectful to local women and communicative with local men. He is generally liked, a good neighbour, they say.'
'I especially like the touch about the mother.' I then told Helena that the quiet ones always harbour dark secrets. When killers or world-beating fraudsters are apprehended, their neighbours invariably shriek with surprise. First they deny that such a sweet person could have done something terrible. Later they themselves hone up sensational tales of how he dragged a teenage girl down an alley, and always had a weird look in his eyes… Helena commented on how cynical I was today.
Well, maybe Norbanus was full of antique nobility. Even so, I did not want my sister cuddling up to him in some British bower. I went into Maia's silent room and sat upon the bed, staring at the plant. Helena remained in the doorway, watching me thoughtfully. I told her what I had discovered that morning about Florius. 'You never met hi
m, did you?'
She shook her head. 'No. His relatives were bad enough. Petro had a visitation from Milvia once, when he was staying with us.' That would have been just after Petro's own wife threw him out. Helena grimaced. 'And Marcus, wasn't it her horrid mother who barged in another time, blustering that our Lucius must leave her darling flower alone? As if we were not trying very hard to make him do just that – for his own sake!'
'I wish Petro had taken the advice.'
'The mother was a fright,' Helena reminisced. 'All threats and venom. And Balbina Milvia! One of those girls I hate – bright eyes and loads of enviable jewellery. Much too pretty to bother with good manners or brains.'
'Bad sex!' I exclaimed.
Helena looked shocked. 'How do you know that? Did Petronius Longus tell you, during some evil drinking bout?'
'Actually no. He has never talked about his lovers.' He and I had leered at plenty of women from wine bars over the years; I knew how he thought. 'But you can see Milvia is only interested in herself. She wanted Petronius because having a secret lover made her feel important.'
Helena still felt she had stumbled on evidence of some boys' lewd game. She had never entirely trusted me not to be off on some affair. Chloris was the current suspect, of course. Frowning, she went back to our original discussion. 'You thought Milvia was trouble.'
'I was right.'
'As for the husband, he was ineffectual.'
'Not nowadays. It's all change in the Balbinus mob. The mother is showing her age. Who knows where the wilful wifey is? But Florius has transmogrified from a loose piece of gristle into one of the world's tight dealers. His treatment of Verovolcus shows he suffers nobody to stand in his way now.'
Helena was concerned. 'Florius had you attacked once. Then Petro was caught alone, and he was very badly hurt.'
'A warning.'
'Yet Petronius is still determined to get Florius? While Florius knows exactly who he is dealing with: Petronius Longus of the vigiles enquiry team, who turned Florius' sweet little, rich little wife into an adulteress – and then didn't even want her, but dumped her back at home.'
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