Nowadays the narrow, silting river was a grave disadvantage. Rome was importing fabulous quantities of goods from all over the world. Every amphora and bale had to be dragged along the highroad in carts or on muleback, or carried up by barges to the Emporium. The new harbour at Ostia had had to be rebuilt but was still unsatisfactory. So as well as the barges there was plenty of small boat traffic, and that enabled the existence of parasites like Lollius.
He was the last person I wanted to see credited with assisting any enquiry I took part in. However, Petro and I were stuck for useful information. If we were to vie with Anacrites even my brother-in-law had to be tackled. 'Lollius, either shut your trap about finding things, or tell me what in the name of the gods they are.'
He gave me his most unreliable squint, bleary and sly. 'Oh, you mean the festival fancies!'
I knew at once that the bastard had just told me something significant.
XVII
'We call them that,' he gloated. Slow to grasp a point himself, he assumed I was just as dim. 'Festival fancies… he repeated lovingly.
'What exactly are we talking about, Lollius?'
He drew two lines on his own body with his index fingers, one across his filthy neck and one at the top of his fat legs. 'You know -'
'Torsos? Limbless?'
I was no longer feeling chatty, but my brother-in-law looked eager. To forestall more horrible details I asked: 'I suppose the heads are missing too?'
'Of course. Anything that can be chopped off.' Lollius flashed what remained of his stumpy teeth in an evil grin. 'Including the melons.' He drew circles on his chest then sliced down with the flat of his hand as if cutting off breasts. At the same time he made a revolting squelching sound through his gums.
'I gather they are women?' His mime had been graphic, but I had learned to make sure of everything.
'Well, they were once. Slaves or flighty-girls presumably.' 'What makes you think that?'
'Nobody ever comes looking for them. Who else could they be? All right, slaves might be valuable. So they're all good-time girls – ones who had a really bad time.' He shrugged off-handedly. I deplored his attitude, though he was probably right.
'I've never heard anything about these limbless lasses.' 'You must move in the wrong circles, Falco.'
I made no plans to alter my social life. 'Have you fished any out?'
'No, but I know someone who did.' Again.
'You saw it yourself?'
'Right.' Remembering, even he went quiet.
'How many are we talking about?'
'Well, not so many,' Lollius conceded. 'Just enough for us to think 'He's still at it!" when one floats to the top or gets tangled in an oar. They all look pretty much the same,' he explained, as if I was too dumb to work out how the boatmen made the connection.
'With the same mutilations? You talk as if pulling these beauties out of the river is a traditional perk of your job. How long has it been going on?'
'Oh, years!' He sounded quite definite.
'Years? How many years?'
'As long as I've been a waterman. Well, most of the time anyway.' I should have known better than to hope Lollius would be definite, even about something as sensational as this.
'So we're looking for a mature murderer?'
'Or an inherited family business,' Lollius cackled.
'When was the last one discovered?'
'The last I heard about' – Lollius paused, letting me absorb the implication that he was at the centre of life on the river so bound to know everything important – 'would have been about last April. Sometimes we find them in July, though, and sometimes in the autumn.'
'And what did you call them?'
'Festival fancies.' Still proud of the definition, he didn't mind repeating it once more. 'Like those special Cretan cakes, you know -'
'Yes, yes, I get it. They turn up at public holidays.' 'Neat, eh? Somebody must have spotted that it's always when there's a big set of Games, or a Triumph.'
'The calendar's so crammed with public holidays I'm surprised anyone noticed.'
'The joke is, it's always when we roll back to work with a really vile headache and can't face anything too raw.' That happened frequently too; the water boatmen all had a notorious capacity for drink.
'When they get fished out, what do you do with the bodies?'
Lollius glared at me. 'What do you think we do? We shove in a spike to let the gas out, tow them downstream out of trouble, then sink them if we can.'
'Oh, the humane touch.'
His scorn was justifiable. 'We're certainly not daft enough to hand them in to the authorities!'
'Fair enough.' Public spirit is at best a waste of time, at worst positively asking for ten months rotting in the Lautumiae jail without a trial.
'So what are you suggesting?' Lollius jibed. 'That we should dig a dirty great hole in a public garden and bury the lumps when nobody's looking – or when we hope they're not? Or we could all club together and arrange something through our guild's funeral club, maybe? Oh, yes. You try arranging a polite cremation for someone you don't know who has had all their extremities hacked off by a pervert. Anyway, Falco, if I had found one of the fancies, and even if I was prepared to do something about it, can you imagine how I'd explain it to Galla?'
I smiled drily. 'I expect you'd tell my wonderful trusting big sister some complicated lies, Lollius – just as you normally do!'
XVIII
Petronius was furious. When he returned from his trip out of town, the tale I reported from Lollius brought out his worst side as a member of the vigiles. He wanted to storm down to the Tiber and arrest anyone who carried an oar.
'Back off, Petro. We don't know any names, and we won't be told any either. I poked around a bit but the boatmen have clammed up. They don't want trouble. Who can blame them? Anyway, without an actual torso what can you do? We now know that the rivermen find these things; it's no real surprise, because if there are dismembered hands floating about then the other body parts had to be somewhere. I let it be known along the embankments that next time we'll take delivery of what they trawl up. Let's not annoy the bastards. Lollius only coughed to me because he was yearning to play the big prawn.'
'He's a rotten old bloater.'
'Don't tell me.'
'I'm sick of messing about, Falco.' Petronius seemed tetchy. Maybe when I sent him to Lavinium I had made him miss an assignation with Milvia. 'The way you do things is incredible. You tiptoe all around the facts, sidling up to suspects with a silly smile on your face, when what's needed is to hand out a few beltings with a cudgel -'
'That's the vigiles' trick for encouraging public trust, eh?' 'It's how to run a systematic enquiry.'
'I prefer to woo the truth out of them.'
'Don't fib. You just bribe them.'
'Wrong. I'm too short of cash.'
'So what's your method, Falco?'
'Subtlety.'
'Bulls' bollocks! It's time we had some routine around here,' Petro declared.
To impose this fine concept, he rushed off, despite the hot weather, and took himself to the river where he would try working on the boatmen although I had told him not to. I knew he would get nowhere. Clearly the harsh lessons I had absorbed in seven years as an informer would have to be learned all over again by him before Lucius Petronius carried weight as my partner. He was used to relying on simple authority to generate something even simpler: fear. Now he would find he lacked that. All he would inspire in the private sector was scorn and contempt. Anyway, for private citizens putting the boot in was not a legal option. (It was probably illegal for the vigiles too, but that was a theory nobody would ever test.)
While Petro was exhausting himself among the water bugs, I applied myself to earning some petty cash. First I cheered myself up extracting payment for various jobs I had done months ago, before Petro joined up with me; the denarii went straight into my bankbox in the Forum, minus the price of a couple of shark steaks for Helena and me.<
br />
Then, thanks to our recent notoriety, we had a few tasty tasks. A landlord wanted us to investigate one of his female tenants who had been claiming hard luck; he suspected she was harbouring a live-in boyfriend who should be coughing up a share of the rent. A glance at the lady had already revealed that this was likely; she was a peach and in my carefree youth I would have strung out the job for weeks. The landlord himself had tried unsuccessfully to waylay the boyfriend; my method only took an hour of surveillance. I settled in at midday. As I expected, promptly at lunchtime a runt in a patched tunic turned up looking furtive. He couldn't bear to miss his snack. A word with the tenement's water-carrier confirmed that he lived there; I marched in, confronted the culprits as they shared their eggs and olives, and clinched the case.
A well-to-do papyrus-seller thought his wife was two-timing him with his best friend. We had been watching the set-up; I decided the friend was innocent, though the dame was almost certainly being screwed on a regular basis by the family steward. The client was overjoyed when I cleared his friend, didn't want to hear about the cheating slave, and paid up on the spot. That went in the honesty dish Petro and I were sharing, even the large gratuity.
On the way back to Fountain Court I dropped in at the baths, scraped myself down, listened to some unimportant gossip, and bantered with Glaucus. He was working with another client and I didn't stay. Back at base Petronius Longus had failed to reappear. I was in for a hard time worrying over his whereabouts; it was like being in charge of a lovelorn adolescent. I hoped his absence meant he had gone to attempt a reconciliation with his wife. I knew it was more likely the dog had sneaked off to see Balbina Milvia.
Pleased with my own efforts I shut up the office, exchanged a few words with Lenia, then strolled across the street. I was the cook here, so long as we lacked a troop of whining slaves. Helena had been marinading the fish steaks in olive oil with a few herbs. I panfried them simply over the embers in our cooking bench and we ate them on a green salad dressed with vinegar, more oil and a dash of fish sauce. We had plenty of oil and sauce after our Spanish adventure, though I applied them sparingly. A good shark steak should stand alone.
'Did you rinse them well?'
'Of course,' retorted Helena. 'I could see they had been salted. Mind you, I was wondering what had been in the washing water. ..'
'Don't think about it. You'll never know.'
She sighed. 'Well, if Lollius was right and people have been murdered, cut up, and dumped over several years, I suppose we're all used to it.'
'The torsos must have been put straight into the river.'
'How reassuring,' muttered Helena. 'I'm worried about the baby's health. I'll ask Lenia if we can draw our water from the laundry well.'
She wanted the horror stopped. So did I. She wanted me to stop it; I was not so sure I could.
We left a decent period so it didn't look as if we were hoping to be given dinner, then walked over the Aventine to her parents' house. I thought we were just enjoying a cheap night out, but I soon realised Helena Justina had more precise plans. For one thing she wanted a closer inspection of the situation regarding Claudia Rufina. Claudia and both Helena's brothers were there, moping because their parents were holding a dinner party for friends of their own generation, so the house was full of tantalising food scents while the youngsters had to make do with leftovers. We sat around with them until Aelianus grew bored and decided he was off out to hear a concert.
'You could take Claudia,' Helena prompted.
'Of course,' said Aelianus at once, since he came from a sharp-witted family and had been brought up well. But Claudia was frightened of Rome at night and decided to opt out of this invitation from her betrothed.
'Don't worry; we'll look after her,' his brother told the prospective bridegroom. The comment was quiet and nonjudgmental; Justinus had always known how to niggle in an underhand way. There was no love lost between these lads; born barely two years apart they were too close. They had no habit of sharing anything, least of all responsibility.
'Thanks,' Aelianus responded laconically. Perhaps he looked as if he were having second thoughts about going. And perhaps not.
He did leave us. Claudia carried on discussing the orphans' school with Helena, which suited both of them. Claudia was nursing our baby, being the kind of girl who grabs them and shows off how sentimental she can be. It may not have been the way to her betrothed's heart. Aelianus could only just stomach the thought of getting married; it was tactless of Claudia to let him see she expected him to play his part in filling a nursery.
I enjoyed a long talk with Justinus. He and I had shared an adventure once, rampaging like heroes all over northern Germany, and I had thought highly of him ever since. If I had been of his own class I would have offered him patronage, but as an informer I had no help to give.
He was now in his early twenties, a tall, spare figure whose good looks and easy nature could have wreaked havoc among the bored women of the senatorial classes if it had ever struck him he was cut out to be a heartbreaker. Part of his charm was that he appeared to have no idea of either his talents or his seductive potential. Those big brown eyes with their intriguing hint of sadness probably noticed more than he showed, however; Quintus Camillus Justinus was a shrewd little soldier. According to rumour he was chasing after an actress, but I wondered if the rumour had been carefully cultivated so that people would leave him alone while he chose his own path. Actresses were death to senators' sons. Quintus was too clever for social suicide.
Vespasian had hauled him back to Rome from a military tribunate in Germany, apparently in great favour. As so often happens, once Justinus arrived home the promise of an upward push evaporated; other heroes were catching attention. Justinus himself, always diffident, showed neither surprise nor resentment. I was angry for him, and I knew that Helena was too.
'I thought there was talk of you trying for the Senate at the same time as your brother? Didn't the Emperor hint that accelerated entry might be possible?'
'The impetus died.' His smile was wry. Any barmaid would have given him a free refill on the spot. 'You know how it is, Marcus. So I suppose I'll now stand for election at the normal age. It spreads the financial burden for Papa.' He paused. 'I'm not sure that's what I want, in any case.'
'Going through a tricky phase, eh?' I grinned at him. He wanted to do well – and to beat Aelianus at it. That was understood.
'Being difficult,' he agreed.
Helena looked up. She must have been paying attention even though she had appeared deep in conversation with Claudia. 'I suppose you scratch yourself in front of Father's illustrious friends and refuse to change your tunic more than once a month, and you're surly at breakfast time?'
He beamed at his sister fondly. 'I don't turn up at breakfast at all, dearest. In the middle of the morning when all the slaves are busy washing floors I emerge from bed – walking straight through the clean bit in last night's dirty shoes – then I demand a fresh sardine and a five-egg omelette cooked exactly right. When it comes, I leave most of it.'
I laughed. 'You'll go far – but don't expect an invitation to stay with us!'
Looking over her large nose, Claudia Rufina gazed at the three of us with troubled solemnity. Maybe it was just as well she had been linked to Aelianus. He was proper and conventional. He never indulged in ludicrous fantasies.
Helena patted the young girl's heavily bangled arm, for no obvious reason. Also for no reason her eyes met mine; I winked at her. Shameless, she winked back without a second thought. Then we held each other's gaze as established lovers sometimes do even when it is socially inconvenient, shutting out the other two.
Helena was looking well. Clear-skinned, good-humoured, alert and intelligent. More formal than she would be at home, since you never quite know what to expect when visiting a senator's house: a pristine white gown with a shimmering golden stole, an amber necklace and light earrings, her face defined with hints of colour, her hair tucked into several f
ancy combs. Seeing her confident and content reassured me. I had done Helena no wrong luring her from her father's house. She had the knack of being able to return temporarily to this upper-class world without embarrassment, taking me with her. But although she must miss the comforts, she showed no trace of regret.
'Well, Marcus!' Her eyes were smiling in a way that made me take and kiss her hand. The gesture was acceptable in public, but must have spoken of far deeper intimacy.
'You have such great affection,' exclaimed Claudia impulsively. Alarmed by her mood our baby awoke, whimpering. Helena reached to take the child.
Justinus rose from his couch and came round behind his sister, to hug her and kiss her too. 'Claudia Rufina, we are a loving family,' he said wickedly. 'And now you are to join us – aren't you glad?'
'Be a pet,' Helena reproved him. 'While you're jumping about and making silly remarks, pop into Father's study and bring me his annual calendar.'
'Planning another party?'
'No. Showing Marcus that his best partner is the one who lives with him.'
'Marcus knows that,' I said.
The senator had an expensive set of the Official Year in Rome: all the dates of all the months, marked with a C for when the Comitia could be in session, F for days when general public business was allowed and N for public holidays. Bad luck days had their black marks. All the fixed festivals, and all the Games, were named. Decimus had sweetly added to the almanac his wife's and children's birthdays, his own, and those of his favourite sister and a couple of well-off ones (who might remember him in their wills if he kept in with them). The latest addition in the blackest ink, which Helena pointed out to me, was the day when Julia Junilla had been born.
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