I straightened up and walked over to the still shocked ferryman. "What did you see?"
"Nothing. I just felt something binding on the boat. I guessed we had a floater; I rowed in gently and Firmus helped me free it. I've seen plenty, but I've never seen…" He tailed off in distress.
"Were you rowing over with a fare?"
His eyes grew wide.
I said quietly, "If it was the big man who is staying at the mansio, you can speak up." I knew Petronius Longus must have seen the corpse at some time; the message from Firmus had hinted it was he who had advised fetching me. "It's all right. He and I are a duo."
Firmus had been listening. "He's gone back over there," he intervened.
I told the ferryman he would do better if he kept working, and persuaded him to take me across to the far side of the Thamesis. As we looped over slowly, first veering upstream and then drifting back, I looked down the wide gray river and thought black thoughts.
The great river marked a geographic boundary. Even the weather seemed different; when we landed on the southern bank, the heat we had felt in the town was less oppressive. Mind you, it was now early evening.
The mansio lay a short walk from the islands with their reeded banks, along the left fork of the big Roman highway. This was a decent full-width military road that went, I knew, far westward beyond the chalky downs to the entry port at Rutupiae. It had been the first route prepared by the invasion force and still carried arriving armed forces and most goods that came into Londinium overland. The mansio was a brand-new establishment; it only looked about a year old. A sign warned people, LAST GOOD DRINK BEFORE THE COLONIA. I found Petro glumly sampling this beverage.
The landlord had been cagey, but must have been warned that I would be coming. I was led to a discreet table in a back garden where a second cup was standing ready. Petro quickly filled it for me.
"Thanks! I need a drink."
"I warn you, Falco, it won't help."
I drained the cup and started on a second one, this time adding water. That was a mess." The baker's pulped flesh kept revisiting my memory. I set my beaker on the table, as nausea threatened. "Familiar?"
"Took me right back to the Balbinus mob."
Petronius let out a grunt. He had a bread roll alongside him. He had managed two bites, automatically. Now it just sat there. He would throw it away.
"Those were the days!" He sounded bitter. "You took your time getting here."
"Busy day. I had to go out and see a bastard lawyer, for one thing. Anyway, I'm staying at the residence. You can send a message which reaches there in a few minutes. Then the slaves spend all morning and afternoon passing it between themselves. Saying it is urgent slows them down."
Petro lost interest in that. "This is grim, Falco." He must have been thinking for some hours. Now he plunged right in: "With your man, the drowned Briton, his fight could have been spur of the moment. There was a flare-up and he copped it. End of story."
"No, it was planned," I broke in. "Tell you in a minute. Go on."
"This death was deliberate slow torture. Its aim was systematic terrorizing of the whole community."
"And the body was meant to be found?"
"Who knows? If they want secrecy they should have weighed it down. They should have dumped it further downriver, away from habitation. No, they intend it to look as though they discarded him like rubbish. They want the next victims they lean on to have heard all about this… Did you talk to the ferryman?"
"He's gone into shock."
"Well, he told me the tide was on the turn. It looked as if the body had been chucked overboard to go downstream a bit, but it washed back unexpectedly."
"Chucked overboard-from what?" I queried.
"A boat went down. The ferry had had to wait for it while he was coming to get me."
"Why didn't you use the bridge?" I asked.
"Same reason as you, Falco. Hilaris warned me they don't maintain it."
I grinned, then became serious again. "When I asked him, the ferryman denied seeing anything."
"Do you blame him? Suppose this was the Balbinus mob, would you pipe up, 'Oh, Officer! I saw the boat they threw this person off'? You'd have your eyes very tightly closed."
"So where were you at the crucial moment, Petro? Did you see this boat dumping him?"
"I was aware of the boat," Petronius admitted angrily. "Classic witness failure, Falco-I was paying no attention. I didn't think it was important at the time."
"Big craft or small?" We had to drag it out of his memory while we could.
Petronius cooperated gloomily He was disgruntled that he, the professional, had failed to take note of a vital scene. "Smallish. Smart, a private river craft-pleasure not trade."
"Sailed or rowed?"
He placed a wide palm on his forehead. "Rowed." He paused. "There was a small sail too."
"Nameboard? Flags? Interesting prow?"
He tried hard. "Nothing that stuck."
"Anyone visible?"
"Couldn't say."
"Hear a suspicious splash?"
He grimaced. "Don't be stupid. If I had, I'd have paid attention, wouldn't I?" Something struck him. "There was somebody standing in the prow!"
"Good-what about him?"
It had gone. "Don't know… nothing."
I frowned. "Why were you aware of the boat? Also, why did the ferry have to wait? The river's wide enough."
Petronius thought. "The boat was stationary for a while. Drifting." He pulled a face. "While they dropped him in, perhaps. They could have slid him over the side, the side away from me."
"Hades… That was stupid-right by the bridge and the ferry crossing!"
"It was at the crack of dawn, but you're on the dot: it was stupid. Anybody could have seen them. These villains don't care."
"Anyone else about?"
"Just me. I start early. I was here, squatting on the jetty."
"Would they have seen you signaling to call the ferry?"
"No. I don't bother. I was just sitting still, listening to the marsh birds and thinking about-" He stopped. His lost daughters. I dropped a hand over his forearm, but he shook me off. "I have a routine arrangement to be fetched at first light. The ferry was still moored opposite. If the people in the drop-boat were preoccupied, they may not have realized I was watching."
"They were damned careless, all the same." I thought about things. Life stank. "I still say, this is a wide enough river. Why did the ferryman wait?"
Petro saw my point. "Wonder if he knows who owns that boat?"
"And wanted to avoid them? Was he scared, then?… All right-so what about the corpse?"
"Bumped up against us as we crossed. The ferryman would have pushed it away and hoped it sank. I made him hook it."
"Did he know beforehand that it was death by violence?"
"I thought he just wanted to avoid trouble. He was horrified when he saw we had landed a corpse in that condition."
"And Firmus? Firmus happened to be there?"
"Yes. He threw up in the drink."
We sat quiet for a time. Dusk was falling; if I wanted to make it back across the river I would have to move. I would have liked to stay and give Petronius solace.
"I feel bad about leaving. I don't like you being alone over here."
"I'm all right. Things to do, lad. Wrongs to right-villains to catch," he assured me, his tone drab. Petronius had never been a pious hero. He was far too decent.
Before I set off, I told him what I had learned today about the circumstances of the Verovolcus death.
"It's clear Splice and Pyro did it-but I wish I knew what Verovolcus was talking to them about at the bar."
"And who was the man giving them orders? What are you going to do?" asked Petro.
"Report it all to the governor, I reckon."
"What will he do?" He managed to avoid sounding skeptical.
"What I tell him, I hope. Now I have to decide what that should be."
"What
do you think?" I knew he was dying to make suggestions. When we were lads out here in Britain he would have barged in, taking over if he could. But we were grown-up now. If no wiser, we were both more sad and tired. He held back, leaving me to take the initiative in my aspect of the case.
"I think it's time we arrested Splice and Pyro. Are you happy? Will it cut across you?"
Petro thought quickly, then shook his head. "No. Time to shake things up. So long as I know what's coming. But take care," he warned. "You may be pulling out a support that brings the whole damn edifice crashing down on us."
"I see that."
Petro was trying to prophesy: "If you take out their main collectors, the group then has to reorganize. They'll need to do it fast, or the locals will start enjoying their freedom. Way out here, the gangsters are very far from their normal resources. If they lose a crucial operative, I doubt if they have backup. They may make mistakes, become too visible. Then too, they have the worry of what Splice and Pyro may tell you."
"Nothing, trust me on it." I was a realist.
"Everyone has a weak spot. Everyone can be bought." Bereavement, or something, was making Petronius sentimental. Gangsters' enforcers must be the hardest men in the criminal underworld, and if Splice and Pyro had come from Rome, they were the worst of their type. "This is the end of the world. It's frontier rules," Petro insisted. "Frontinus could sink them in a bog and no questions asked. If their masters place bail for them, we'll know exactly who their masters are. So they could be abandoned. They know they can be replaced; there is always some creep offering to become the gang's new bagman. Pyro and Splice know it, Falco: this is dead-meat town for them if things start going wrong."
"Oh yes! I'm taking notes," I scoffed, "for when we interrogate these babes! Cradle stories should frighten them witless. Whoever mashed Epaphroditus is obviously a nervous type-"
Petronius sighed. "You suggest something then."
"What can I say? Arrest Splice and Pyro-then watch what happens. That's as far as I can go, like you."
"It's pathetic," he said bleakly.
"Yes."
We both knew it was all we had.
???
Before I left to go and see the governor, I said, "Ask me who told me about the Verovolcus death."
"Who told you?" Petronius demanded obediently.
"One of those gladiator girls."
"Oh, them!" Petronius gave a short mocking laugh. He had temporarily forgotten that he saw me being led off by the fighters in frocks. "So they captured you outside the brothel. Now you're here, unscathed. How did you escape their clutches, lucky one?"
"Helena Justina came and fetched me safely home."
He laughed again, though he could read the trouble in my face. "So which one coughed?"
"She's calling herself Amazonia, but we know better. Remember Chloris?"
He looked blank, though not for long. He let out a shout. "You are joking! That Chloris? Chloris?" He shuddered slightly. "Does Helena know?"
I nodded. Then, like the two boys we had been years ago in Britain, we both sucked our teeth and winced.
XXXII
A sunlit street. Not much of a street by Roman standards, but feebly shaping up. It is morning, though not early. Whatever is happening has had to be approved, planned out, and put in hand.
A back-alley bar has a portrait of a short-legged, punk-faced Ganymede offering his lopsided ambrosia cup to some invisible sex-mad Jupiter. Waiters from the Ganymede stand halfway down the street, in conversation with a waiter from another place, the Swan. Its painted sign shows a huge randy duck pinning down a naked girl. All the waiters are talking about a dead baker. Everyone in the streets today is talking about him. By tomorrow he will be old news, but today on this fine morning, his grim fate is the main talking point.
Even so, the morning glows. There is little feeling of menace, just a faint lowing from a stable somewhere, the scent of eggs frying, a smooth-haired dog with a long snout, scratching herself. Between the pantiled roofs of the ramshackle properties is a narrow glimpse of clear blue sky, subtly more mellow than blue skies in Italy.
On the opposite side of the street from the two bars, a locksmith comes to his doorway to speak to a neighbor. They too are probably discussing the dead baker. They glance across at the group of gossiping waiters, but do not join them. After subdued words, the locksmith shakes his head. His neighbor does not linger.
The locksmith returns to his booth, and a man walks toward the Ganymede. He is confident and worldly, his pace jaunty. As he approaches the bar, a small group of soldiers appear out of nowhere. Swiftly they back the man against a wall, hands up. He submits to a search, laughing. He has done this before. He knows they cannot touch him. Even when they march him away, he is jaunty. The waiters, having watched what happened, return at once to their individual bars.
At the Ganymede, soldiers step out and arrest them. A man-tall, broad-shouldered, calm, brown-haired-goes in to search the joint. Another- sturdy, efficient, curly dark hair, handsome-identifies himself to the soldiers and follows the first inside the bar. Later they emerge, with nothing. Disappointed, they hold a short discussion, apparently about tactics. The bar is sealed. A soldier stays on guard.
The street is peaceful.
Elsewhere, at a barber's, a customer is in the chair half shaved. Two men in plain clothes, though with military bearing, come up quietly and speak to him. He listens courteously. He removes the napkin from under his chin, apologizing to the barber, who steps back, looking anxious. The customer shrugs. He places coins in his barber's hand, waving away objections, then he goes with the two officers who have sought him out. He has the air of an influential person who has found himself the victim of a serious mistake. His pained demeanor shows that he is too sophisticated, and perhaps too important, to create a public fuss about this error. It will be sorted. Once his explanation has been accepted by people in authority, there will be trouble. There is a faint implication that some high-handed fool will pay dearly.
The disconcerted barber returns to his business. The next customer stands up quietly but does not take the shaving seat. He says a few words. The barber looks surprised, then scared; he goes away with the man, who has dark curly hair and a firm step. That shop too is closed up and sealed.
Another street lies peaceful now. The operation has gone well so far: Pyro and Splice, and some of their associates, have been lifted on the orders of the governor.
XXXIII
I had watched the two men being picked up. Petronius and I had searched the Ganymede: no luck. If there had ever been money or anything else kept there, it had recently been removed. In the room where Splice and Pyro lodged we found only personal possessions of a meager kind.
Cursing, we made plans. Petronius Longus would lean on the ferryman for information about the boat that had dropped the baker in the Thamesis. He would also enlist the help of Firmus to try to discover where the attack on the baker had occurred. We felt it must be near the river-in a warehouse, probably. There would be bloodstains.
I would see what happened about Splice and Pyro. The governor's men would supervise their interrogation, but I expected to deal with the ancillaries: waiters and barber, plus any other hangers-on the army brought in. Soldiers were picking up the staff at the bar where Verovolcus died. Word had also been sent to Chloris to come in and make her deposition to the governor.
I followed the arresting parties back to the residence. The enforcers were Placed in separate cells. Neither was told the reason for his arrest. We left them to stew. They would be interviewed tomorrow. Neither knew the other had been detained-though they may have deduced it-and apart from the people who saw them being taken, nobody was informed by us that we had Pyro and Splice in custody. The waiters and the barber were put through preliminary interviews the same night. All refused to tell us anything. The barber may even have been innocent.
Word must have raced back to the gang leaders. The enforcers' lawyer came to importun
e the governor in midafternoon, only a few hours after the arrests. We already knew the lawyer: it was Popillius.
Frontinus had Hilaris with him for this confrontation; I made sure I was there too. I felt Popillius had arrived too quickly and overplayed it. Frontinus must have thought so too, and took him up on it: "A couple of common criminals, aren't they? Why do you want to see me?"
"I am told they are held incommunicado, sir. I need to consult my clients."
When I first knew Julius Frontinus, he seemed an amiable buffer with an interest in arcane branches of public engineering works. Given command of a province, and its army, he had grown into his role fast. "Your clients are well housed; they will be fed and watered. They have to await the normal interview process."
"May I know the charge?"
The governor shrugged. "Not decided. Depends on what they have to say for themselves."
"Why are they in detention, sir?"
"A witness has placed them at the scene of a serious crime."
"What witness, please?"
"I shall tell you at the proper time."
"Does the witness accuse them of committing this crime?"
"Afraid so."
"Nonetheless, it is wrong to detain them overnight and they need an opportunity to prepare their defense. I am here to put up their bail, sir.
Frontinus looked at the lawyer indulgently. "Young man-" There was a decade between them-a decade in years and a century in authority. Julius Frontinus looked an efficient general and empire-builder, which meant he was equally impressive as a high-grade magistrate. "Until I conduct an examination and evaluate the case, I can hardly set bail terms."
"And when are you likely to conclude the examination?" Popillius tried to be crisp.
"As soon as the business of this province will permit," Frontinus assured him calmly. "We are among the barbarians. My priorities are to keep Rome's frontier secure and to found a decent infrastructure. Any civilian who interferes with that has to wait his turn."
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