Magnus was once again burrowing among stacks of marble sheets. “The carts come in,” he muttered, his roughened hands pulling the heavy slabs forward to inspect them. “We certify the delivery; the carts go out again. Cyprianus has taken to installing a gateman, who inspects every empty one.”
“And you have been checking them personally, while they are parked up!”
“You saw me, Falco—and I saw you checking me, for that matter.”
“You could have told me what you were doing.”
“You could have told me! I was trying to catch them using the rubbish removal trick—a layer of stolen goods is hidden under rubble. Anyway—yes!” He stopped. He had licked his thumb and washed it over a particular marble block. Under the dust showed a small, neatly scratched cross. Magnus let the block rest against its brothers, then stood back, sighing like a sailor who had glimpsed his home port.
“You marked a consignment.”
“And now I’ve found it here. Let him talk his way out of that one.”
“Slight problem with the interrogation, Magnus! I’m diligent—but Marcellinus may not cooperate. …”
“Plus he had those pipes—they must be the ones Rectus is bellyaching over.”
“Rectus will be pleased.”
“He’ll be farting delirious!”
“Will you arrange to fetch all this back to the palace?”
“I’m staying here to guard it. When you go back, Falco, will you ask Cyprianus to organize transport?” Magnus then gazed at me. “By the way—I had backup, you know. When Gaius couldn’t explain his whereabouts yesterday, it’s because he was helping me search wagons.”
“So you were never at the bathhouse last night?”
“Actually I was.” Magnus looked shamefaced. “I really have to explain this, don’t I?”
“It would be wise.” I now thought him innocent, but I answered coldly.
“It was like this: I went to the baths, took off my togs, and then Gaius nipped after me to say there was movement by the wagons. I’d already seen that Pomponius had put his lurid kit in the changing room and I was not looking forward to leisure time with him. So I dragged on boots and a tunic, then left everything else.”
“So that’s how your satchel was hanging there unsupervised when the killers borrowed your five-four-three and compasses?”
“Right. It turned out there really was a cart leaving, but it was just that appalling statue merchant you brought on-site.”
“Sextius is not my protégé!”
“Anyway, Strephon finally gave him the push. Sextius was skulking off to Novio and taking his junk. Have you seen it, Falco? Useless trash … We searched the cart, then I was so demoralized I really could not face strigilling down next to Pomponius. I fetched my bag and clean clothes and went back to my quarters. If anyone had meddled with my satchel, I didn’t notice.”
“Did you see where Gaius went?”
“He didn’t come back to the baths with me. He went off to bed. I didn’t hang about, and I don’t know whether Pomponius was dead at that point or not.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all this?”
Magnus gave me a sneer. “You’re the man from Rome!”
“That doesn’t make me the enemy.”
“Oh, doesn’t it!” he scoffed.
I ignored that. “And you think Gaius is reliable?”
“He’s been an enormous help.”
“How did he get involved, Magnus?”
Now it was the surveyor’s turn to dodge the question. “Gaius is a good lad.” I had thought so myself once.
“So you’re a diligent site official, he’s an honest clerk? And I thought you two were cuddling in the same bathrobe!”
“Oh, spare me! You know about Gaius?”
“I know nothing. No one talks to me.”
“Ask him,” said Magnus.
XLVI
MAGNUS AND I continued thoughtfully to gaze at the Marcellinus house.
“Nice billet!” I commented. “From the superb workmanship, he even used laborers and craftsmen from the palace site. It’s a cliché, the architect doing up his own house at the client’s expense.”
“It still stinks, Falco.” Magnus was disgusted. He was a straight dealer who on principle denied himself the perks that Marcellinus had taken so readily. He must have known already what had been going on. That did not make it easier for him to stand here staring at the proof.
“Did Pomponius take liberties too?” I asked.
“No.” Magnus calmed down slightly. “One thing you could say for Pomponius, he owned about five properties, but they were all in Italy—none placed conveniently near a project. And I never knew him to commandeer so much as a wood nail for any of them.”
“How do you think Marcellinus got away with it?”
“Probably started small.” Magnus forced himself to evaluate the fraud scientifically. “Genuine unwanted stuff. Mismatched colors. Overbought items. ‘Nobody will miss it; it will only go to waste …’ Laborers they were trying to keep busy during quiet periods in the contract would be dispatched for help out here. As project manager, Marcellinus could certify anything. If nobody picked up the increasing costs, he was laughing. And nobody did.”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t pretend you knew about it, Falco!”
“No.” But seeing what had now happened, I could name a palace bureau that must have Marcellinus on file. There had to be some reason why Anacrites had sent Perella out here. It was typical that he would be acting on outdated information, when current problems on the new scheme made Marcellinus a mere side issue.
“Eventually Marcellinus saw his source of supplies as a right?” I deduced. “He saw nothing wrong in it.”
“Everyone here thought supplying the architect with goodies was routine,” Magnus confirmed. “My worst problem has been breaking that attitude. I thought the King was in on it—still, he’s a provincial. Marcellinus had a duty to set him straight.”
“I’m sure that, finally, he embarrassed the King.”
“Too late,” said Magnus. “They had been too close. The King couldn’t shake Marcellinus off. That was why Pomponius used to hate letting Verovolcus in on anything.”
“The long shadow of Marcellinus thwarted all attempts to keep the new scheme solvent? I’ve seen for myself,” I told him. “Even with me right there on-site, Marcellinus was quite openly leaning on people like Milchato to keep his free gifts coming.”
“Bloody Milchato takes a cut,” the surveyor growled. “I’m damn sure of it.”
“We can sort that. He worked here on the previous building. Time he had a career move.”
“Oh—‘for further development of his personal craft skills,’ you mean?”
“I see, dear Magnus, that you know how it’s done!”
“Just move the problem on.”
“Move him to work on a military latrine at the bad end of Moesia.”
“They don’t have marble,” Magnus corrected me pedantically.
“Quite.”
We reflected on the failings—and in the long run, the powers—of gigantic bureaucracy. When that became too solemn, I mused ruefully, “It must have seemed so neat at first. Togidubnus has a refit—then so does Marcellinus.”
“Then spoilsport Rome sends in a brand-new project manager.”
“Pomponius makes himself unpopular, so Marcellinus sees his chance to reposition. But the King has adapted to Vespasian’s style; he definitely grows unhappy.” Despite their famous friendship, I was now sure Togidubnus had sent me to see this villa on purpose. I was to discover the fraud. “Togidubnus wants to see the corruption end.”
Magnus stared at me. “Just how badly does he want that, Falco? This murder seems rather too convenient.”
I was startled. “You’re surely not suggesting he had a hand in it?”
“He made damn sure he had left the scene before it happened.”
“I don’t fancy explaining back on the P
alatine that a favorite of Vespasian’s is a murderer!” I groaned. “But did he organize it? I do hope not.”
“The Palatine may not be entirely clean, Falco. I bet this starts a whole way farther up than Novio.” Magnus was sharp. Too sharp for his own good, maybe. He might not have heard of Anacrites or Laeta by name, but he knew what went on.
I tried to disagree. “It’s a menace. Murder draws too much attention.”
“But this way, there won’t have to be an embarrassing corruption trial,” Magnus pointed out.
“True.”
Was avoiding political embarrassment enough to justify this murder in Anacrites’ eyes? Yes, his wheeler-dealing, double-standards section at the Palace would certainly see it that way. And they would not like Magnus and me deducing what they had done.
Helena Justina came out to the courtyard to join us. She looked from me to Magnus. “What have you found?”
I indicated the mass of stored materials, then waved an arm at the house. “Marcellinus had a lovely home—kindly supplied to him at government expense.”
Helena took it calmly. “So the man was somewhat unscrupulous?”
“Why avoid libel? He was utterly corrupt.” Helena sighed. “This will be a hard blow for the wife,” I said.
At that, my own flared up angrily. “I doubt it! In the first place, Marcus, they lived together here for a long time. The stupid woman ought to have noticed what went on. If she didn’t suspect, then she closed her eyes purposely.” Helena was hard. “Oh, she knew! She wanted her fine house. Even if you tell her now, she will deny any wrongdoing, insist that her husband was wonderful, and refuse all responsibility.”
Magnus looked startled by her virulence.
I put my arm round her. “Helena despises meek little women who claim they know nothing of the business world.”
“Parasites—who happily enjoy the proceeds!” Helena growled. “When she wakes up, that woman’s first thought will be whether she can keep the house.”
“If it’s all hushed up,” Magnus replied bitterly, “then she probably can.”
“Expect comprehensive hushing. The Emperor,” I told him dryly, “won’t wish to be seen as a tyrant who harasses widows.”
Helena Justina had had enough. She pointed out briskly that if we were going back to Novio that evening, we should set out now. “Leave the corpse. Let that woman deal with his remains.”
“You’re brutal.”
“I’m angry, Marcus! I hate corrupt men—and I hate women who let them get away with it.”
“Settle down. The widow may in fact be shocked and apologetic when she learns her husband was a crook.”
“Never. She’ll never see it.”
“She may turn everything over to the grateful Treasury.”
“She won’t.” Helena had no doubt. “That wife will cling to this villa ferociously. She will give Marcellinus an elaborate funeral. Neighbors will flock to celebrate his life. There will be an overscale monument with fulsome carved tributes. This pilfering grandee’s memory will be cherished for decades. And the worst of it is—she will speak of you and Magnus as mundane interferers. Men of lesser vision, men who did not understand.”
“My lady is upset,” I told the surveyor. I sounded proud of her, I’m proud to say. “I’ll take her home.”
“She’s bloody right!” proclaimed Magnus.
“Oh, I know that.”
XLVII
THERE WAS no sign of Verovolcus and his men, and I had no great hopes of results from their search. I found our horse and set off back to Noviomagus with Helena myself. We were already tired. Anger made it worse. We traveled the long road almost in silence, yet being together apart from others was refreshment for us both.
At one point, Helena began dozing against my back, so for safety I stopped and took charge of Favonia. Swapping a baby between two drowsy parents on horseback, when the baby is wide awake and wants to throw its weight about, takes time and courage.
“Maybe we should swaddle her, after all,” I muttered. Helena had vetoed this for both our children. She believed in exposing the girls to exercise and danger; she called it training so they could one day deal with men. On the other hand, she said if we had boys, she would keep them in straitjackets until they left home for marriage.
“Swaddling you wouldn’t keep you out of mischief,” she told me. “Have you got her?”
I had somehow tied Helena’s stole around the baby and knotted it to hang around my neck.
“She’s got me.” My offspring was now gripping the front neck of my tunic hard. Half throttled, I rode on.
When we reached Noviomagus, I’d decided we would follow the King’s example from yesterday: we would rest here and stay overnight at Helena’s uncle’s house. Another mile to the palace might not seem too much, but it was a mile along a road frequented by men from the site. I was exhausted and ill placed to tackle trouble. Besides, I was in no mood to restrain myself with any fool who tried to take me on.
Helena wanted to see her brother Justinus too. Rather to my surprise, he was actually at home; I thought hard living must have paled. But I was wrong; his hard-living cronies had merely come to him. Once it was clear that Helena and I were not in transit but staying, Aelianus and Larius both sneakily emerged.
“It’s been a long day, with some bloody episodes,” I warned them. I was past even berating them for breaking the rules and leaving base. I could not face a noisy group discussion about recent developments. I had thought things through on the long ride here, but still had some pondering left to do—the kind I could accomplish best when fast asleep.
All three young men volunteered with great courtesy to go out for the evening. They might be home-loving types, but felt they could amuse themselves at some respectable venue so Helena and I might have some peace. The trio promised to return to the house with extreme care and quietness.
“And don’t be late,” ordered Helena. They solemnly nodded their heads. “Who is looking after Maia Favonia?” she then enquired. The lads assured her Maia Favonia was well able to look after herself.
We had to hope it was true.
XLVIII
NO, WE didn’t.
I caught the lads as they were skipping out the door. With Perella still on the loose, Maia needed guards. “Aelianus and Larius, you are to go back to the palace now. Make sure my sister is all right.”
“Maia is perfectly safe—” Aelianus began stroppily. After his sojourn in the woods, he wanted a treat.
He might be right. Perella’s sole target might have been Marcellinus. But he could be wrong.
“If anything happens to Maia while you have bunked off partying, I shall kill you, Aulus. That’s as in disembowel you with a meat cleaver.” He was still looking rebellious, so I said curtly, “Marcellinus had his throat slit by that dancer we thought was tailing Maia.”
He did reconsider. “And now the woman is on the loose again?”
“Stupenda?” Justinus joined in, with a quick glance at his crony Larius. “She won’t have energy for Maia. She will be resting. She has a long night ahead of her tomorrow.”
Larius explained: “Tomorrow night is billed as Stupenda’s farewell appearance.” As I stared at him, he added lamely, “Virginia tipped us off.”
Tomorrow was nearly here. “You’re done in, Falco,” Justinus said quietly. “Aulus and Larius will certainly go back now and guard Maia. I’ll try to find out from the management at the bar if they know where the dancer stays. If they don’t know, we can all join the audience for her final show.”
“What, and arrest her in front of a baying crowd?” I knew nothing works out that easily. But I was so tired, I was powerless. “She won’t appear.”
“She had better,” Justinus replied grimly. “The men are all keyed up for it. If she fails to arrive, there will be a riot.”
I grinned wanly and said, “Well, none of us would want to miss that.”
XLIX
ISLEPT BADLY. My tooth hurt.
And when you most need rest, it refuses to come.
I felt events were either running towards a climax or, more likely, shooting out of my control. The palace project was well in hand. I had identified enough of what had been going wrong for officials to screw things back in line. It could be done painlessly. With both Pomponius and Marcellinus dead, the two architects could jointly be blamed in reports for inefficiency and the theft of site materials. Magnus’ part in trying to trace losses would support my recommendation that he be given greater authority. A new title might help, say prefect of the works. Cyprianus would act as deputy. Strephon could be given a chance to lead the designers; he might develop well. If Magnus was correct that the clerk, Gaius, was honest, he could be made the senior; the others could be smartened up or replaced, so cost control and programming would then be pulled back on target. That was fine.
I still wanted to identify for sure who killed the two dead architects and why. Other deaths on-site were either natural events or safety issues; firm management would help stop unnecessary accidents.
I still wanted to safeguard my sister in a way that would deter Anacrites permanently.
I still wanted to find Gloccus and Cotta.
Shocking death stays with you. Bloody sights affect your dreams. When I did drift off to sleep, nightmares that sprang from the killings here, oddly combined with low moments from my own past, leaped from my tired imagination. Waylaid by terror, I woke, needing to sit up and detach myself. Helena, unused to riding long distances, slumbered deeply at my side. I had to stay awake, knowing the nightmares would stalk me if I relaxed again. By the morning, I felt grim.
Justinus appeared as fresh as a bird during my late breakfast. He was even sober enough to notice my silence.
“I’ve been out on reconnaissance. Everyone thought ‘Stupenda’ was lodging in a dive near the palace, Falco. Not so, apparently. I searched, but she was not there.”
“How do they contact her about bookings?”
“She comes to see them.”
“So are they confident that she is still on for tonight?”
A Body in the Bathhouse Page 28
