'I'm Falco and you know Helena; we have Albia with us. Albia in fact is contemplating a claim for damages against your employers -' Popillius' sandy eyebrows shot up. I bet he was now wondering if Albia would hire him; he would not wonder for long, once he worked out that she had no money. 'And this is Petronius Longus, a member of the Roman vigiles.'
He had blinked slightly as I reeled off the introductions. Clearly remembering that Frontinus had revealed what Petro did, Popillius looked hard at him. Petro just glared back. The vigiles are used to being despised. They are rude, brutal, and proud of it. 'May I offer refreshments?'
'No, don't put yourself out.'
'The young girl seems troubled…'
But Helena drew Albia aside and sat with her.
Petronius looked on caustically, while I braced up to Popillius.
'Popillius, a question: have you managed to see your two clients yet?'
'I have not. In fact, I may have to get angry with the governor, if this delay continues -'
Petronius barked with laughter. 'I wouldn't try it!'
I kinked up an eyebrow at Popillius. 'No one has told you?'
The lawyer was on the alert now. He gave me an enquiring look, not speaking.
'Pyro is dead,' I told him bluntly. 'He collapsed last night. Apparently poison.'
He considered this very briefly. 'I am shocked.'
'If you're going to suggest that the governor arranged the death,' I added, 'don't even think of it.'
Popillius' gaze was shadowed with caution. 'Why should I suspect the governor? Why ever would Frontinus -' He was a persistent cross-examiner.
'For an easy life. Remove an awkward criminal without the need for evidence, or the risk of trying him.' Popillius seemed to be genuinely baffled.
'I find that out of character. And what risk of trial?' he demanded.
'The risk that the criminal might get off.'
He laughed. 'Is that a compliment to my speechmaking? So -' Popillius abandoned that line. 'The man you know as "Splice" – what has happened to him? I must see him.'
'You'll have to find him first,' scoffed Petro.
'What has happened?'
'He escaped from custody,' I acknowledged sombrely.
'Pyro was probably wiped out by the gang,' Petro added, being professional. 'To stop him talking. Splice may have reckoned he had lost his value for them too, so once on the loose he turned on them.'
'Wait, wait -' Popillius broke in. 'Go back a stage. You are telling me my client escaped?'
'Fixed up by you, Popillius?' I enquired satirically. Popillius retaliated, 'Just be professional and tell me what is going on.'
We sat either side of him and talked to him like schoolteachers. 'One of your imprisoned clients has been relieved of his life while in custody -'
'Splice saved his skin by not eating the tainted trayful.'
'Then while being removed to a safer place, somehow the troops managed to "lose" him.'
'Bribes were used,' decided Petro flatly.
'And who is the prime suspect for paying them?' I asked him.
'Falco, I'd say, look for a crooked lawyer.'
'Face it,' I advised Popillius. 'If you work for gangsters you are assumed to be their fixer.'
Popillius growled. 'I merely accepted clients, in a case where legal intervention was justified.'
'Well, you've lost them both now.' I was grim. 'Tyro was poisoned – and Splice has been killed in a fight.'
'Are you sure, or is this hearsay?'
'I saw it. How exactly were you first approached to take them on?'
Popillius replied openly: 'Somebody's slave brought me a letter. It outlined their position as prisoners and asked what my fee would be.'
'Who signed the letter?' Petronius demanded. 'Anonymous. The proverbial "Friends of the Accused". It happens. Usually the reason is, they don't want the man in question to feel obligated and embarrassed afterwards.'
'So how did you answer?' Petro snapped back. Was that by letter too?'
Popillius nodded. Cynically, I then asked, 'How could you be certain that you would be paid?'
He smiled slightly. 'My terms were payment in advance.'
'Oh smart! The upfront cash arrived, I take it?' Again he nodded. 'So,' I summed up, 'you never had any direct dealings, and you still don't know who your principals are?'
Popillius gazed at me. That was when he chose to surprise us. He leaned back, with his hands linked on his belt. 'Not quite,' he retorted. 'I do know who commissioned me. And more important to you, perhaps – he does not know yet that I traced him.'
Petronius and I looked at each other. Even before Popillius continued, we understood what he was going to do. It appalled us that he was about to undermine our prejudice – but his last speech warned us: he would tell us the name.
We were lads of tradition; we were shocked. But it was true: we were staring at an honest lawyer.
XLVII
Even Helena had stopped murmuring to Albia. Helena had wonderful ears. Those shapely shells were perfect for pearl ear-rings, tempting to nibble – and they could single out whispered words of scandal from right across a humming banquet hall. She held up a finger to keep the girl silent.
Petronius Longus placed his hands flat on his thighs, breathing slowly. 'You are about to do something noble, Popillius?'
'I am not as stupid as you seem to think,' returned the lawyer peacefully.
A half-grin frxed itself on Petro's face. 'You tailed the slave!'
'Of course,' confirmed Popillius with a light inflection. 'When the legal profession are offered anonymous clients, it is regular practice.'
Petronius winced. 'And to whose house did the slave return?'
'That of Norbanus Murena. '
Petronius and I leaned back and slowly whistled. Popillius looked reflective. His voice was low, almost sorrowful, as he contemplated the devious world. 'The perfect neighbour, I am told. A decent man, with an elderly mother upon whom he dotes. She is not with him in Britain, if the lady really exists. Which I regard as unproven, incidentally.'
Petronius and I both shook our heads in amazement. 'So why are you telling us?' I queried.
'That should be obvious,' the lawyer replied piously.
'You hate and despise gangsters?'
'As much as anyone.'
'But you take their money?'
'If there is a justification legally.'
'Then why give Norbanus away?'
Now Popillius did look slightly embarrassed, but the mood was fleeting. 'I was hired. I took the case.'
I still did not see the point.
'You told me Pyro was poisoned by these gangsters,' explained Popillius. Then he showed us that a lawyer's conscience is a tender thing: 'I have been paid for my services and I will defend his interests. What has happened to Pyro is an outrage. I cannot allow anyone to kill my client and get away with it.'
XLVIII
So Florius was in partnership with Norbanus Murena.
There was a sensible course of action (go home; inform governor; change into dry tunics and put feet up while governor took risks). Then there was the course Petronius and I chose.
I blame Helena Justina. She reminded me that Norbanus also lived in the northern part of town, nearby. Popillius told us the address. He lent his carrying chair to take Helena and Albia back to the residence. When he offered to escort them himself, I refused.
'So I may be an honest lawyer – but you don't trust me!' he twinkled.
'Not with my wife,' I replied.
The lawyer's directions took us to a neat house on the bank of the main stream There stood several shrines to the Three Mother Goddesses, bulging British deities sitting among fruit and baskets of wool and looking as if they would clout anyone disrespectful rather hard around the ears. A couple of other buildings in the vicinity were using the water supply for light industry, among them a pottery and a decorative metal works. These must be where those neighbours lived who thoug
ht Norbanus such a nice man.
Petronius and I approached quietly. We walked discreetly all around the boundary. It was quiet. Nobody was about, that we could see. But if this was the headquarters of a major gang of criminals, armed personnel could be all over the ground, waiting to ambush us.
'You knock on the door,' I said. 'He knows me.'
'He's met me too.'
We were behaving like naughty schoolboys who planned to disturb the porter then run away. We did not make a move, however. We were taking stock. For one thing, while Norbanus had no reason yet to suppose we were on to him, this house lay close to the arena, and not far from the waterwheel hut. There was a possibility that Florius had hidden up here. If we had only associated him with Norbanus before this, we could have searched this house in time.
Now however, the question was not did Florius come here after the fight – we both thought it almost certain – but was he still on the premises?
'I think he would bolt to his associate, get his breath, then move on fast,' Petronius said. I agreed. But we still needed to approach the joint with care. If Florius and Norbanus were both there, this operation really needed more than two of us. Even Norbanus must be far more dangerous than he had always seemed.
We had already made plans to cover the worst contingency. Helena Justina was to ask the governor to send troops. But would they ever come? I had requested support earlier, when I first left to join Chloris at the amphitheatre: the riot was all over before a few desultory soldiers turned up. Petro and I could be sitting here all day waiting for reinforcements.
We chose to investigate by ourselves. We would certainly do that without thinking if we were back home on the Aventine.
We did wait for some time. It gave us a feel for the place. We stood against the wall of the next door house and dutifully watched the Norbanus residence. Nobody went in or out. Most houses are like that except at certain times of day. This was not one of the busy times. There was no activity.
In the end, I was sent in. Petronius lay in wait outside, watching to see if anybody legged it out the back way. He told me reassuringly that if anyone jumped me he would see who did it. I made a rather short reply.
The door was answered, fairly swiftly, by a perfectly innocuous household slave.
'Greetings. I am Didius Falco. Is my sister here?'
Why did I still feel like a schoolboy? Perhaps because I had asked that question numerous times in the distant past, when my mother sent me out on vain errands to round up my horrid siblings. At least now the rest of my story had changed: 'My sister is Maia Favonia. She and your master are on friendly terms.' I really did feel quite anxious that Maia might be with the crook.
'She is not here.'
'You know her?'
'Never seen her.'
'Is Norbanus at home?'
'He's out.'
'When are you expecting him back?'
'Later.'
'Well look – I don't know if you would like to do this, but he very kindly promised to show me around his house. I am thinking of renting a similar place and I wanted to see what they are like. To save me a wasted journey, is there any chance…'
Of course there was. The slave, a Briton who came with the rented property, I guessed, was perfectly willing to show me everything. But then his master would not object, would he? Everyone said Norbanus Murena was such a pleasant man.
'Can I ask my friend to come in too?' Petronius Longus was just as welcome as me. I winked at him triumphantly. He kicked my ankle.
We searched the whole place. We even looked in the outbuildings. Well, you need to know what stabling and workshop facilities are available when you take on a lease. We were feeling pretty proud of ourselves. The slave had no idea we were fishy specimens.
The house was small by Mediterranean standards, set around a tiny courtyard which could never see much sun. Wattle and daub in some parts; elsewhere brick built, with a decent pantiled roof. The best rooms actually had sheets of translucent talc on the windows and were frescoed in a basic way. Painted panels were divided by finely traced candelabra and urns; long-beaked birds of only slightly uncertain parentage bowed to each other in pairs on mottled ochre friezework. The furnishings were spare but adequate, less masculine and more fussy in style than I expected. Everywhere was clean and well- kept.
As a gangster's palace this lacked ostentation. That was wise. Londinium had not grown much since its days as a traders' camp among the marshes. To install grandiose marble and exquisite artwork, when even the governor so far had only a few building-trenches in place for his headquarters, would be indiscreet.
'Norbanus has a villa downstream too, hasn't he? Do you know if he rents or owns?'
'The villa is being built just for him.' So that was where some of his profits were invested.
'Is it across on the south bank?' asked Petro.
'Yes sir. Close to the religious sanctuary on a hill just outside town.'
Petronius knew it; his expression was sardonic. 'That's the new complex for the temples of the Imperial Cult, Falco. Our friend Norbanus has pitched his tent to be all cosy with the Emperor!'
'No, he's down by the river,' the slave corrected him snootily. 'The imperial estate owns all the high ground.'
Instead, Norbanus would have access to the water and its amenities. I bet that suited him. He could make a quick getaway, in case of trouble.
'So where is he today?' I asked innocently. 'His villa?'
'I'm afraid I cannot say, but we keep the house in readiness; he sleeps here most nights.'
By now we had been led back to the exit and were poised to leave. 'What about his friend?' asked Petronius. I saw he intended to take a chance. 'Do you see much of Florius?'
The slave did pause, though it was imperceptible. Perhaps his gaze sharpened, but he replied smoothly. 'Yes, he has been known to visit, but I've not seen him for some days.'
Well, that confirmed the gangsters' partnership. But it would also tell them we were on to both of them. The slave was bound to report back what we had said.
Petronius was keen for results now. He had taken a bloody-minded risk; this was his field of expertise, but I felt uneasy. Abandoning secrecy might get him more than he bargained for.
The door was open. We were being shunted out.
As we walked outside, we both stepped wide to allow entry to newcomers. This pair was familiar: the blind harpist and his boy. The boy scowled at me, then gave Petronius an even filthier look.
Petro and I walked around them, nodded coolly, then strode on. After a few steps I looked back and saw that the boy with the unpleasant stare was now watching us; Petronius in particular seemed to excite his interest. That did bother me. 'Our presence will be reported. Norbanus may feel we have encroached too closely.'
'Good!' snarled Petro.
I did not admit that I'd seen the harpist spying on Maia last night as she went to his room. My own role in that incident would be difficult to explain. But I did say, 'I'm worried about Maia. Need to warn her about Norbanus.'
'Good thinking.'
After a while I asked him straight out: 'Is something going on between my sister and you?'
Petronius looked at me sideways. Then he shrugged. His voice was hard. 'You had better ask her. And if she does happen to tell you her intentions, you could pass on her answer to me!'
'Oh, so she's being herself,' I remarked bluntly. Then I risked it: 'Are you in love with Maia?'
Petronius Longus slapped me on the shoulder. 'Don't you worry about it,' was his strained response. 'Whatever I feel has been there for a long time. It never mattered to anyone before. There seems no reason why it has to matter now.'
But I found that on behalf of both of them, it did matter to me.
We walked on in silence through the rain-sodden streets of this unformed, unfilled, vulnerable town. Evening had fallen. More rain was lowering in the dark skies. The immigrant wild people, entrepreneurs and crazy freaks who wanted to make their fort
unes, were cowering at home. The pudding-faced Britons who originated here were sitting at their smoky firesides, trying to work out how to buckle a sandal strap. I hoped the judicial legate had taught these new citizens that very wet leather needs to be dried slowly, while stuffed with rags to preserve its shape…
When Petronius and I were almost at the procurator's house, we finally heard marching boots. Legionaries were coming towards us. They had failed to help us when we needed them. We glanced at each other then with one accord stepped under an awning outside an olive oil shop, where we remained unseen until the soldiers passed.
XLIX
The day seemed long enough to me. Hours before, I had been roused at early light on Pyro's death and since then I had been constantly active. We had made progress. Both chief villains had been identified. All we had to do was painstakingly track them down. Petro might convince himself we were at the world's end where they had nowhere to hide, but I felt less confident. The brief conflict with Splice had ended with his death in the amphitheatre. But Florius and Norbanus could command enormous resources. Our task from now on could be demanding.
So when I returned to the residence, I was determined to rest. I found Helena in our room. She sent for food trays, and we stayed private together with our children all that evening. No one bothered us. I did think of tackling Maia over Norbanus, but I was too tired. It would lead to a row. Tomorrow, I decided, I might manage to be more tactful.
Petronius had volunteered to report on the situation to the governor. Since Petro had his own clandestine position in Britain to discuss with Frontinus, I let him go alone. He would describe the gangsters' identities and our abortive reconnaissance, and if he wrangled with Frontinus about further action – which was quite likely, knowing the vigiles – that was their own grief.
The only gripe I wanted to tackle with the high-ups was their failure to provide military support. As with Maia, I was too angry to broach the subject now – well, too spent physically to be polite. Helena said she had mentioned the problem to her uncle, who had been surprised. According to him, prompt orders had been given for troops to attend the arena and then later, when Helena returned home with Albia, more cover was supposed to have been sent to the Norbanus house. When I told her nobody turned up, Helena was furious. After I fell asleep, I am sure she slipped out and berated Hilaris about me being left in danger.
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