Lindsey Davis - Falco 15 - The Accusers

by The Accusers(lit)

  `So they say!’

  `So they say.’

  I had been thinking. Now I stood up. `Well, that’s about the limit of what I can offer.’

  Paccius looked surprised. ‘Falco! You mean, you won’t take. the job?’

  `No thanks.’ I gestured at Bratta. `You have a perfectly competent trace-man here, who has done the groundwork. Bratta failed to find the fugitive. There’s not much left for me; I would be floundering messily. I recommend you just sit tight until Birdy reappears when he gets bored. I don’t have the time or the resources to potter about.’

  The Camilli were ready to leave with me. Paccius looked astonished that I had turned down the fee. I thought he was about to argue, but he then shrugged. The informer Bratta gave me a nod. I decided there was grudging respect in it. Or maybe he thought me an idiot.

  I stared at Paccius. `You want to be careful. It looks as if you and Silius Italicus have shared this out between you. He had first go, now it’s your turn.’

  `That would be collaborating,’ Paccius murmured. `That sort of behaviour gets our trade a bad name, Falco.’

  Too right it did.

  We lads of Falco and Associates stood together in the street. Use of the Paccius litter had been a one-way sweetener. We were not offered transport home.

  `So that’s it?’ asked Aelianus. `We are out of the case? The Metellus affair does not concern us?’ He spoke warily, as if he knew there was more on my mind than I had revealed.

  I gazed up at the wintry sky. A star appeared briefly through featherings of pale cloud. Then it vanished. No others replaced it and the cloud cover thickened as I looked. We would have a long, dark walk home. Still, at this time of year the street criminals liked to hibernate. Many would have stayed indoors beating up their women and children. Not that we could feel confident. Others would be on the prowl, using the darkness.

  `There’s no future in this case,’ I said. Justinus made a small mutter of dissent. He had doubts about my motives, like his brother. I started to walk. They followed me, their steps sluggish. I heard one of them kick at a kerbstone, then yowk as he hurt his foot. They had wasted an evening. They were annoyed and dispirited.

  After walking for a while, they calmed down.

  `We don’t have much work,’ said Justinus. `Marcus, I was sure you had decided that we would set out to find Birdy privately.’

  `I thought of it.’

  `But no?’

  `It’s winter, no money in it - and I’ve grown up, Quintus.’

  `I was with Quintus,’ his brother confessed. `Waiting to hear you declare you would like to get to Birdy first!’

  We all laughed gently.

  So we marched through Rome as the winter night descended. Our steps were light and fast, keeping ahead of trouble. We stole a lantern from a portico, so wild shadows flickered around us. Ice was forming on silent fountains; there would be heavy frost by morning. At the Forum, the Camilli left me, peeling off towards the Capena Gate. I walked briskly down the Sacred Way, turned a corner after the empty Basilica, and went home to my wife.

  XV

  SHE WAS waiting for me. Before I put in my latch-lifter, Helena threw open the door.

  She was not waiting for me. Ignoring me, she moved back inside and stepped to one side so somebody else had a clear space to walk out. I recognised him instantly. Albia followed; she was driving the man ahead of her. I raised my eyebrows. He had his hands up and he looked scared. I was scared too, for a moment. I saw that Albia was holding the tip of a large kitchen knife rather hard against his back.

  The man stopped. Well, he had to. My own knife was out, and pressing on his chest.

  `Better stand still.’ I could afford to speak gently. We were eye to eye and he could see the menace in my mind. `I don’t allow the women of my household to be troubled by male visitors while I’m out.

  Albia moved back against Helena, lowering her weapon. They clutched each other, no doubt in relief. Looking over his shoulder I could see they were not too badly frightened, more pleased with themselves. I knew who the man was. He was trouble, but not in any way I couldn’t handle. Helena and Albia had dealt with him successfully even without me.

  I sheathed my dagger. He took heart and spoke. `You must help me, Falco!’

  I grinned at him. `Good boy. You know the procedure. Now you’ll say, Oh Falco, I have nowhere else to turn!’

  He opened his mouth obediently - well, I already knew he was easily influenced - then he stayed silent, feeling stupid. I gripped him by the shoulders, spun him around, and marched him quickly back inside.

  ‘Metellus Negrinus, men who have gone into hiding from a praetor’s enquiry should not stand too long out in the street. We informers get paid a bounty for turning in fugitives!’

  XVI

  WE GAVE him food, watered wine, warmth, a wash in a hand basin. We promised him a bed, safety, a quiet night. First, he had to talk to us.

  `Understand this,’ I said tersely. Albia had brought us soup; she banged down his bowl in front of him, splashing the low table. I spooned mine up daintily. Our chattels were growing in style and quantity slowly, but we possessed rather fine bronze spoons, a gift to me from Helena years ago. I hoped Metellus would not steal any. You never know with corrupt aediles. Luckily no one had thought to let him have one of our fine-weave Spanish napkins; I had paid for them myself `You are charged with murder. You have refused to answer. Tomorrow your accuser will meet with the magistrate and have you formally named as a fugitive. I have enough trouble with the authorities. Once that happens, I will not harbour you in my house.’

  `You should meet the praetor, face up to it,’ Helena advised him.

  `I can’t do that.’

  Our next question should have been, why not? But there was something going on here. I was prepared to probe carefully.

  Helena had already told me Negrinus rushed into the house earlier that evening, demanding to see me. He was dishevelled and dirty, also greatly agitated. She had made sure Albia stayed with her. When he decided they were lying about my whereabouts, Helena became nervous and Albia, still at heart a street child, fetched the kitchen carver.

  `You need a bodyguard to tangle with my ladies. You should have brought your lictors, aedile.’ Since the New Year his term as aedile had ended, but I noticed he still accepted the title from me. Disgrace had not given him any sense of shame. `It’s never hopeless,’ I urged. `Your sister escaped the charges against her. The praetor may decide that a further prosecution is vindictive. He could throw out the charge against you.’

  Negrinus looked up, his face aglow. `Would he?’

  Doubt descended. `I said it was possible. Look, what has Paccius got on you?’

  The sandy-haired man pushed away his bowl. He had hardly touched anything. Normally I reckoned he would be a determined eater; it had made him chubby fowled and too round in the stomach. He did not look as if he exercised. Now he was dejected, utterly spent mentally. I could see why people shoved him around.

  We were in our winter dining room. By his standards it must be plain, but we liked the dark walls with their fine tracery of golden candelabra designs, dividing formal panels. Helena gave Albia the nod that she could disappear if she wanted to; she left, after glaring at Negrinus. Never having had a home until now, she was doubly defensive of our house. I noticed she let the dog run in; Nux experimented with a sharp woof at the stranger, then lost heart and came over to lick me. Helena quietly cleared dishes aside on the low wooden serving table. I lit more oil lamps. I wanted Negrinus to know he would be here until he came clean.

  `Let’s go right back. Your father was convicted of evil practices involving your duties as aedile; you were implicated but not charged. Do you have any comment?’

  Negrinus sighed restlessly. He must be used to this. `No, Falco.’

  `Well, it colours how you will appear. I take it you accept that? Next comes the nonsense with your sister Juliana and the apothecary; she got off, but that too paints “m
urder” all over your family in the eyes of a court.’

  ‘Paccius knows that my father did not really want to commit suicide.’

  `They had discussed it after he lost at the first trial?’

  `Yes.’

  `Paccius is likely to say so in court then,’ Helena joined in. `An accuser with personal knowledge?- The court will believe anything he cares to say. Did Paccius directly advise your father to kill himself?’ Her voice was low, belying what I knew to be strong feelings.

  `Yes.’

  `And what did you think?’

  `I didn’t want to lose Father. We were close. But I suppose I could see the arguments about not paying out all our money…’ His voice faltered when he said it, however.

  `If you were close, and you cared for your father - can we assume you thought he cared for you?’ I asked.

  `I thought so.’ Negrinus spoke in the same despondent tone as when he had answered previously. `I always thought so.’

  `So why did he cut you from his will?’

  A faint flush coloured the man’s fine skin. Gingery types find it hard to conceal their feelings - though interpreting the signals is not always easy. `I don’t know.’

  `You must have some idea.’ He shook his head.

  `I realise this is upsetting - but Paccius will interrogate you when you give evidence.’

  He stared at me. `You know his intentions?’

  `He tried to hire me tonight - to look for you. He told me, your distress at being omitted from the will is your murder motive. It figures. Of course you’re annoyed. You are the only son. This is not just about the money, Birdy. It’s your social and domestic position at stake. This is about who takes over religious responsibility in your family, who honours your ancestors, who makes offerings to the family gods. You expected to take on your father’s role.’

  `Ha!’ For once Birdy spoke up for himself. `I was more likely to be pleased that Papa had not handed me all his debts.’

  That can be a deterrent to heirs: a bequest brings the main beneficiary full responsibility for any debts left behind. Large debts can outweigh the inheritance. In those circumstances good men sigh and accept the burden. Heirs who are light in a social conscience try to refuse their bequest. That’s most heirs, naturally.

  `Were there many creditors?’ Helena shot in quickly.

  `He owed thousands.’

  `A lot of it seems to be disputed - the compensation for Silius, your ex-wife’s dowry repayment… Still, it would mean endless trouble for any heir. So,’ I wondered, `is this will some clever legal device? Was your father strategically protecting you?’

  A sly look crossed Birdy’s face. `Maybe he was!’ he exclaimed, now showing excitement.

  `Have you any idea,’ I asked him directly, `how Paccius thinks you killed him?’

  `Hemlock, I dare say.’

  I glanced at Helena. Hemlock had already been mentioned by Saffia, the pregnant ex-wife. `That’s very precise!’ Helena said. Birdy fell silent.

  I leaned on my elbow, stroking Nux. She had squirmed into her favourite place, tucked against me on the couch. Her body was warm under the rough curly hair and as usual she smelt doggier than I liked. I stopped. Eyes shut, the happy hound insistently nudged my hand for more attention.

  `I’m still confused about the money,’ Helena mused almost drowsily. `Your father was supposed to have made a fortune from fixing contracts. How can he have had so many debts?’ Birdy looked vague. It was quite possible he did not know. He had never been formally released from parental control. His father may have hogged all details of the family finances - especially if he was involved in dubious practices. `So how did Silius Italicus discover the fraud at your office in the first place?’ Helena tried next.

  `He said we had an extravagant lifestyle. He kept on and on about it in court.’

  `Oh that old argument!’ She smiled, with apparent sympathy, then slid in briskly: `Did you?’

  `Not really.’

  `What happened to the money then?’

  For a moment I thought that Negrinus would admit the Metelli still had it. Then he looked at Helena and I was aware of much greater intelligence than he normally revealed. His air of innocent weakness could all be contrived. I saw a flash of stubborn will. When he then claimed he knew nothing about the proceeds of the corruption, I was not surprised and I ignored it. He knew. Most likely, his father simply ran up debts because he was a mean bastard. Cash was stashed away somewhere. But I had a feeling we might never find it.

  I yawned. `You must be tired.’ I knew I was. I was sick of the Metelli too. `This is an anxious time and you’ve been out on the streets…’

  `We have a guest room where you can stay tonight.’ As she began to shepherd him to his bedroom, Helena urged, ‘Negrinus, you have to appear before the praetor; unless you go to ground for ever, it is unavoidable.’

  I joined in. ‘Paccius is going to see him tomorrow. I suggest you turn up unexpectedly and take the wind out of him. I’ll come too, if you like.’ Negrinus was about to interrupt. `You need to know what he’s planning. If you go before the praetor to “agree the facts”, you force him to reveal his primary evidence.’

  `Oh Marcus, you are wicked!’ I could always trust Helena to understand what I was at. It made some parts of domestic life tricky but was useful on occasions like this. ‘Paccius will hate that!’

  Negrinus seemed to like the idea of offending Paccius. He agreed to my plan.

  I wondered if I had the nerve to claim a fee from Paccius for finding and producing him. I thought about it for two seconds, then decided that I did.

  XVII

  WE STARTED badly. The praetor had already dictated a proclamation naming Metellus Negrinus as a fugitive from justice. When I produced Negrinus it spoiled his day. His secretary had inscribed the proclamation nicely and hated tearing up good work.

  Don’t ask me which praetor it was. The usual. Anyone who wants to look up who the damned consul was four years later can work it out. I’ve forgotten. All I know is he was a snide bastard, working in an office where even the clerks looked as if we were some foul mess brought in on the sole of a boot. They all had better things to do than provide justice for the Metellus family.

  Paccius Africanus excelled himself.

  The story now was: Metellus Negrinus, first the stooge of his father, subsequently became the weak-willed tool of his mother. After the corruption trial, Metellus senior refused to do the decent and remove himself from life. Calpurnia was furious. A noble Roman matron expected her man to show self-sacrifice. To preserve the family cash from Silius (Paccius sombrely maintained), she decided to remove Metellus herself, this was with the aid of her son, who felt aggrieved that he had been omitted from his father’s will. Calpurnia admitted having the idea, but Negrinus did it, with hemlock. The plan, said Paccius, was stupidly elaborate. He rightly claimed that murders dreamed up by amateurs often are. Calpurnia and her boy had confused the issue by telling Metellus senior he could take his daughter’s corn cockle pills in complete safety, pretend they had worked, fake his own death, then revive and live a happy secret life. They pretended one of their slaves would actually be killed, to provide, a body they could display and cremate. Paccius named the slave who would have died: Perseus the door porter. The charge was that Metellus fell for the plan, then instead, hemlock was administered to him by Negrinus at the lunch which they later pretended was the `suicide’s’ formal gathering to say his farewells to his family.

  `Are these people mad?’ asked the praetor. He had listened in silence, as if preposterous ideas were constantly brought before him. No doubt he had learned that he could most easily end the torture by _ allowing the complainants to finish as soon as possible. In a rare flash of humour he added a heavy praetorian joke: `No more than your family or mine, no doubt!’

  His clerks sniggered. We all grinned obediently. I waited for him to dismiss the accusation.

  `I take it you are writing your memoirs, dear Paccius, an
d need a lively chapter for the next scroll?’ The man was thoroughly enjoying himself.

  Paccius made a modest gesture. He managed to imply that when he did write his memoirs, the praetor would receive a free copy of that startling work. There was a strong sense that the magistrate and the informer were old colleagues. They had obviously been involved in many previous cases, and perhaps dined together privately. I distrusted them. There was nothing I could do. No point worrying that they fixed verdicts. Of course they did. It would be hard to prove - and anyone of my new rank who did expose it might as well sail into exile on the next tide.

  `What do you have to say for yourself?’ the praetor asked Birdy. `Can you tell me all this is untrue?’

  That was when Negrinus damned himself. `Not all of it,’ the witless flake muttered, sounding meek.

  `No point denying it, is there?’ exclaimed Paccius. `You realise I have been talking to your mother!’

  `Is she to be jointly charged?’ the praetor interrupted.

  `No, sir. Calpurnia Cara is a woman of some years, who has lost her husband recently. We believe it would be unfeeling to inflict her with a court case. In return for her complete honesty, we are waiving the right to accuse her.’

  I heard myself choke with disbelief. The praetor merely shrugged, as if forgiving highborn widows who had poisoned spineless husbands was an everyday courtesy.

  `Will she make a statement?’

  `Yes, sir,’ said Paccius. Negrinus closed his eyes in defeat. `I shall produce her written evidence that her son administered the poison to Metellus senior.’

  ‘Negrinus will deny it,’ I said.

  The praetor gave me a sharp look. `Well, of course he will, Falco! Paccius intends to show that he is lying.’ Paccius gracefully thanked the praetor for stating his case.

  So if this came off and Negrinus was convicted, Silius Italicus would once again be able to grab compensation in the corruption case, because we were back with the angle that Metellus had not committed suicide. Any money that remained in possession of the Metellus family afterwards would be there to pay off Paccius, for his defence of Juliana and his attack on Negrinus - the remainder to be enjoyed by the heirs to the dead man’s estate. I had no doubt now that Paccius was in league with Calpurnia in some way. Maybe her daughter or both daughters were involved too. My one-time joke that Paccius Africanus might be Calpurnia’s lover now seemed less amusing. One thing was clear: Negrinus had been used, disowned - and now was to be unfeelingly dumped by his family.