Lindsey Davis - Falco 15 - The Accusers

by The Accusers(lit)

  Honorius may have hoped to hitch a lift with me, but Helena steered him straight outside and pushed him off into the storm by himself.

  Now she turned her attention to Ursulina Prisca. `I am so glad to see you. I wanted to ask something. You were a midwife, weren’t you?’

  `Yes, she was!’ cried Ma.

  `I am trying to find a wetnurse -‘

  `Not for our little Sosia!’ Ma protested loudly. Even Ursulina sucked in breath. She must know we had a baby. She had been here enough times; she must have heard Sosia Favonia yelling.

  `No, no; I’m still nursing her myself I wouldn’t dream -‘ Helena realised that it sounded as if she wanted to abandon breast-feeding. (I knew she did, which added to her guilt.) The disapproval of two witchy crones fastened on her. To mention baby teeth and weaning on to porridge would just sound like special pleading. Helena battled on: `Marcus needs to interview a wetnurse in connection with our case -‘ It was news to me, but I never argued with her hunches. `If I go, she may speak more freely…’

  The concept of fooling some other woman pleased both Ma and our litigious client, Ursulina. Sisterhood was not their style. They were eager to help.

  `Do you know Euboule’s daughter?’ Helena asked as they perked up. `I believe her name is Zeuko.’

  Ursulina reeled back. She acted out horror like a creaking tragedian at the least popular day of some tired and dusty festival. `Far be it from me to insult people -‘

  `Oh go on!’ urged my mother, wickedly. `These are bad women.’

  `What’s wrong with Zeuko?’ frowned Helena. `Is she dirty? Lazy? Does she drink?’

  `Oh she’s competent, some would say.’ `She has had high-ranking customers.’

  ‘They are fools. Her mother’s a legend and I wouldn’t let Zeuko foster a dead rat.’ Ursulina Prisca shuddered dramatically. `I can find her. But don’t take your own along - you might never get the little darling back.’

  Helena asked Ma to look after the baby and Julia - but Ma, playing against type, quickly claimed Albia could

  No wonder I was an informer. Nosiness was in my blood.

  The litter was brought. I was borne away on my hopeless errand. By now, the praetor would have a long queue of supplicants. And there were still dog hairs on my toga.

  XLVII

  Time: afternoon.

  Place: patrol house, Aventine.

  Subject: conversation between L. Petronius Longus, Fourth Cohort of Vigiles, and M. Didius Falco, informer.

  Mood: depressed.

  `How was your morning?’

  `Dire.’

  `Procreus turn up?’ `No.’

  `Praetor see you?’ `No.’

  `Charges dropped?’ `No.’

  `Back again tomorrow?’

  `Damn well have to. Any good news for me?’

  `Sorry; no.’

  `The Second made any progress?’

  `No. Perseus is not found yet, and your steward’s a no-go. He’s a freedman. They can’t touch him. They threatened him - but then he threatened them with appeal to the Emperor.’

  `He could talk voluntarily.’

  `He says no: he’s too loyal.’

  `Who’s he loyal to?’

  `He’s too loyal to say.’

  `Stuff him then. Stuff everything.’

  `That’s right. Take the tolerant view!’

  `I’m off home.’

  `Best thing, lad.’

  `Thanks anyway.’

  `That’s all right. What are friends for?’

  XLVIII

  Time: evening.

  Place: a town house full of wet cloaks, sodden shoes drying on the stairs, below the Aventine.

  Subject: conversation between M. Didius Falco, informer, and Helena Justina, confidante.

  Mood: stubborn.

  `Where are you?’

  `Here.’

  `Where’s here?’

  `In this room.’

  `Which room? I’m not a fortune-teller. Oh there you are.’

  `Yes I told you I’m here. Hello, Marcus.’

  `Hello, awkward. Ask about my day.’

  `Looking at you, I’d rather not.’

  `Right. How was yours?’

  ‘Curious.’

  `Any use?’

  `Possibly.’

  `Help me out; I’m tired.’

  `Sit, and I’ll pull your boots off… Well, I saw Euboule - a fright, eyes sliding off in all directions guiltily. I couldn’t see why Ursulina hates them so much, but your mother thought the whole set-up was sinister. They live well. There’s a cr��che of several infants. They’ve been doing the job for years. Euboule was a wetnurse for Calpurnia, her daughter for Saffia. Trusted retainers, it seems.’

  `That so? Do they have the Negrinus new baby?’

  `No. Juliana and Carina did seem set against them - that’s why I was curious. But, Marcus: I did see one child I recognised. He was very quiet, but playing happily. He seemed quite at home. Little Lucius.’

  `Lutea told me Lucius had gone to his “foster mother”… So she’s the wetnurse? That’s odd.’

  `Why, Marcus?’

  ‘Saffia made out Calpurnia Cara insisted she use a nurse to feed the Negrinus daughter. Saffia pretended to hate it. Yet she had previously farmed out Lucius voluntarily to Zeuko? Why would Saffia lie?’

  `Marcus, maybe you’ll want your boots back on, if I tell you about Zeuko -‘

  `Zeuko wasn’t there today?’

  `No. She had rushed off in hysterics because of her lover.’

  ‘Zeuko’s having a fling?’

  `I’d guess, one of several. But this one matters - to us, that is. Somebody saw this man being dragged into the local vigiles’ patrol house this morning.’

  `I think I’ve guessed.’

  `I’m sure you have, Marcus. Euboule and her daughter live in the Fifth Region. The local vigiles are the Second Cohort. And Zeuko’s lover is called Perseus.’

  XLIX

  Time: evening.

  Place: patrol house, Second Cohort of Vigiles, Fifth Region.

  Subject: conversation between an unknown squad member and M. Didius Falco, informer. In the presence of Q. Camillus Justinus, informer’s associate.

  Mood: angry.

  ‘Be reasonable. We need to know what the door porter says.’

  `He’s unavailable.’

  `Is he still getting the treatment?’

  `I can’t comment.’

  `Can I speak to your persuasion officer?’

  `He’s busy.’

  `Still in session?’

  `We never reveal that.’

  `You just invented that edict! Don’t you think you owe us cooperation? I’ve heard all about how you got hold of this slave. If it wasn’t for Justinus bringing him back to Rome, you’d have had to flog all the way to Lanuvium. We’ve saved you a long trip and a longer runaround - it took Justinus a three-day effort to root out the porter from where he was hiding up.’

  `Get lost, Falco.’

  `Listen -‘

  `No, you listen. Either leave this station-house right now - or you’ll be flung into a cell.’

  L

  Time: evening.

  Place: patrol house, Fourth Cohort of Vigiles, Aventine.

  Subject: conversation between L. Petronius Longus and M. Didius Falco, in the presence of Q. Camillus Justinus.

  Mood: tense.

  `I’ve got the story for you.’

  `Something happened. That’s obvious.’

  `Look, Falco -‘

  `You’re sounding defensive.’

  `I’m damn well not.’

  `Well, damn well get on with it.’

  `Perseus refused to tell them anything. And he’s no longer available.’

  `Translate that, Petro. What pretty vigiles excuse is “no longer available”?’

  `He’s dead.’

  `They killed him?’

  `It’s not their fault.’

  `Oh please!’

  `The courts expect
a high standard of battery, if it’s to count as torture legally.’

  `Oh I’d really call this a “high standard”!’

  ‘They are not all as skilled as Sergius -‘

  `Oh Quintus, don’t you like the comparison? Sergius is the penalty man in this cohort. Here, torture is no more dangerous than a sheep shearing picnic in the Apennines. Here they can squeeze your goolies off so delicately you stay alive and keep on making helpful statements for absolutely weeks.’

  `Spare me your sarcasm. The Second slipped up, Falco. Sometimes it’s a risk.’

  `Some risk. These incompetents have removed the one witness who might have told us the truth.’

  LI

  I WAS BITTERLY angry. But in fact there were still other possible witnesses.

  I badly wanted to sort this. The one thing that had always bothered me about accusing Calpurnia was that her family had a secret, one I still did not know. I was working blind. And that meant I could be caught out by some angle I had failed to anticipate. I was right to be wary: by the end of that evening I would know it too.

  I was keen to pressurise Zeuko. Anything Perseus had known was likely to have been passed on by him to her - unless he had learned it from Zeuko in the first place. Unfortunately, since the wetnurse had stupidly run to the Second’s patrol house when she heard Perseus was in custody, the Second were now holding Zeuko herself as a suspected accomplice of the dead slave. (They had had no charge against Perseus - except that he had let himself be killed under torture, clearly a suspicious act.) To mollify me, Petro volunteered to try to inveigle himself in to examine Zeuko, but he warned me the Second were jumpy.

  `I’m doing you a big favour, Falco -‘

  `Ah well,’ I sneered, throwing his own words back to him. ‘What are friends for?’

  That left the Metellus steward. As the Second could not touch him because he was a free man, they had released him and he had gone home. Although it was late, I returned to the Fifth Region to attempt an interview. I went alone. Justinus had pressing reasons; to unload his travel packs at the senator’s house; he needed to make his peace with his wife over absconding to Lanuvium. He was upset about losing Perseus too. He would tell me the full story of his journey tomorrow.

  I found the Metellus spread in darkness, apparently deserted. Maybe Calpurnia had gone into retreat. Perhaps one of her daughters had offered her hospitality. The trial was bound to be distressing her. And she had no slaves, because they were all being processed by the vigiles.

  Even the steward had failed to gain entry to the house. He possessed no latch-lifter or key; well, there had always been a porter to let people in. I found him drinking himself senseless at the nasty bar opposite. I told him about Perseus, hoping shock would make him open up. No use. He was still singing the old song: he knew that a secret shadowed the Metellus family, but had no idea what. Perseus had discovered it, but never revealed his blackmail material. Perseus had boasted that the family were at his mercy - and he intended to keep it that way.

  The door porter had not been entirely immune, however. He was a slave still. His age was under thirty, so in law he could not be manumitted. And because he was a slave, when he finally went too far, Calpurnia had lost her temper and dispatched him to Lanuvium to be kept under control by the trusted freedman, Julius Alexander.

  `So Alexander knows the secret?’

  `He must do, but he’s one of the family. He won’t tell. Anyway,’ maundered the steward. `Alexander is in Lanuvium.’

  No he was not. Justinus had persuaded him to come to Rome. I kept that to myself.

  I offered to help the steward break in to the house, but he was content to stay in a room above the bar that night. I had the impression he would probably not bother to crawl up the stairs to a sleeping-pallet, but would remain propped up against the counter, pouring in drink like a man who had just discovered wine. He had lost all his elegance. He was as dishevelled and inarticulate as any street dosser who was down on his luck. It looked as if this steward was heading for a grim future.

  Once more I encouraged him to go home. Drunkenly refusing to budge, he repaid me for my thoughtfulness by dropping me right in it.

  `You asked me once, Falco - what was the last meal my master ate. I do remember -‘ He had never forgotten. `It was cold meats and salad. What we always had. But my master had been sent a present, she said it was to seek his forgiveness… Lying little cow.’

  Something cold tickled my upper spine. `What present?’

  `Two nice quails in a silver dish. We never had quails. Calpurnia finds little birds creepy. I never buy larks or fig-peckers… But my master liked them. He laughed and told me he would never forgive the woman, but he was very fond of game so he told me not to mention the present - then he ate the quails.’

  You can feed hemlock to quails, and then eat the quails… `Have you told anyone else about this?’

  `Nobody asked me.’

  That old nonsense! This steward was either too scared - or-he had hoped for some gain for himself.

  `So who sent the present? Who are we talking about?’

  `Who do you think? Saffia.’

  I warned the steward to take life easy, then I left him and went home. I walked slowly. I took the longest route I could think of. I had a lot to think about.

  There was no doubt from the way the trial had been going - and the other side’s desperate reactions - that we were winning. We could convict Calpurnia Cara successfully. But somebody else had killed Metellus.

  For my partners and me, this was disastrous. No way out: we had to look into it. If the steward’s claim was substantiated, our charge was untenable. Everything had been for nothing. And before I even dared to break the news to the others, I knew we could not sustain the damage. We had wrongly accused a woman of senatorial rank. She had a top defender on her side. The charge was a dreadful slur on the innocent; the case had been a terrible ordeal for her. Paccius Africanus, whom I had so fiercely humiliated two days ago, would demand compensation - on a grand scale.

  Marponius would lose his chance of glory with the case, so he would hate us. Why blame him? We had made the accusation and if we withdrew, we were liable. Damaging a person of status with a fraudulent petition had always been slammed with heavy penalties. Marponius would award our victim whatever Paccius asked.

  I dared not even think how high the price would be.

  I knew the result, though. Falco and Associates were finished. The two young Camillus boys and Honorius would be named jointly in the penalty award. I could not shield them, even if I wanted to. I had some savings, but no financial capacity to cover their commitment. Nor could we recoup our loss through a petition for murder against Saffia Donata; Saffia was dead. My resources would go nowhere. My future, and the future of my family, had just been wiped out. We were all ruined.

  LII

  I HAD PLANNED to keep it to myself Helena winkled it out of me. She seemed less troubled than I was, but then she had never lived too long in abject poverty. Our days in my old apartment up in Fountain Court had passed like an adventure for her. The cramped conditions, leaky roof and unpleasant, violent neighbours had been soon superseded by a larger, quieter set of rooms. Though not much better than our first dreadful nest, for Helena even they had now faded to a memory.

  It all came back to me readily. The bugs. The creaking joists, threatening to cave in at any heavy footfall. The dirt. The noise. The theft and battery; the disease and debt. The threats from fellow lodgers, the smoke from wonky cooking benches, the screaming children. The smell of urine on the stairs - not all of it coming from the vats in Lenia’s laundry. Lenia bawling drunkenly. The filthy, filthy-hearted landlord…

  `If you were just to withdraw, honestly telling Marponius that you made a mistake, Marcus -‘

  `No. It’s no let-out.’

  `So you began the case - and you have to finish or become liable?’

  `We could keep quiet, of course. Convict Calpurnia, and send her to her deat
h… My conscience won’t cope with that.’

  `Anyway,’ murmured my sensible girl, `somebody else might come forward with evidence. Keeping quiet would be too dangerous.’

  I fell asleep shortly afterwards. I was holding Helena, smiling against her hair - smiling at the ridiculous thought that this model of rectitude might have let us cover up the truth if she thought we could get away with it. She had lived with me too long. She was becoming a pragmatist.

  Helena herself must have lain awake for much longer. She knew how to keep still, shielding her busy thoughts from me. For her, if we could not hold back the new evidence, then we would damn well fight to minimise the damage. She was planning how. Her first move was to ensure that the steward’s tale was true.

  By the time I was up, she had started. While it was still dark, she summoned the others, explained the situation, ordered them not to panic, then addressed avenues to be explored. Honorius was due in court again today. He was to warn Marponius that we had a new witness whose testimony we thought it fair to investigate; he would request a short adjournment. We might be allowed a day; longer was unlikely. Meanwhile, Justinus was to take a full, formal statement from the steward. Aelianus was to revisit the funeral director, Tiasus; Helena had looked through the old case-notes and had spotted that originally we were told the Metellus funeral was to have had `clowns’, plural. She told Aelianus to find out who the others were, and ask them for anything they knew about the background enquiries carried out by the murdered Spindex before he was paid off by Verginius Laco.

  `Especially, ask who Spindex used as his informer,’ she was instructing Aelianus as I came to the breakfast table. Going vague on her, he was assessing me. I had the slow walk of a man facing disaster. Helena kept talking, as she set fresh bread in front of me. `The vigiles haven’t discovered who killed Spindex, or I presume Petronius would have told us, but you can check at the station-house, Aulus, if you have time.’

  `Don’t tell Petro we’ve been idiots,’ I said.

  All three young men stared at me. They were in shock too.