'And did he get the job?' I asked the slave I was talking to.
'Out of the question. He was a gibbering wreck. A man in that state could not be allowed to give lessons to respectable boys. He never even met them.'
'What happened to him?'
'He went back to Rome.'
'Was he fit to travel? After such an ordeal, didn't he panic at the prospect?'
'We kept him here a few days. He was allowed to write a letter and his mother came for him.'
'Got her address by any chance?'
'Afraid not, Falco.'
'We've lost him then
'Why do you need to find him? It's all here.'
'And it's invaluable, thank you. But we now believe the two men existed all right and there is an idea who they are. Volusius, as the only known survivor, might be able to identify them.'
'I bet he'd still panic, even after all these years.'
'Maybe. We have to hope seeing them in custody will reassure him. .. Tell me, what was the point of offering him a job here? Don't boys in a wealthy family have their own private tutor? Were they so dumb, they needed extra cramming in the summer holidays?'
'Excuse me! Quite the opposite. My master's sons had an all-round education in which they both excelled. This was to give them special lessons, because they were so gifted and mentally demanding.' It was to keep them occupied, I guessed, to stop them groping the maids and setting the house on fire. 'Volusius had a sideline – - expertise in algebra.'
Now we were getting somewhere. The vigiles do not keep track of the miserable, half-starved souls who teach urchins the alphabet under street corner awnings, not unless there is a very large number of reports of sexual abuse; or, better still, complaints about noise. But in Rome, playing about with numbers carries dark undertones of magic. Like prostitutes, Christians and informers, therefore, mathematicians are classified by the vigiles as social undesirables. Their details are kept on lists.
XLVIII
I had one more task before I left Antium. I went to the workshop which had once belonged to the famous cameo-cutter, Dioscurides. He was long gone but an atelier still existed, where high-class craftsmen made every kind of cameo, not just from gems and from coral brought up from the Bay of Neapolis, but wondrous pieces carved from two-tone layered glass. I bought a small vase for Helena, an exquisite design in white and dark blue which I could either save for her birthday in October or hand over now to win her round if she was still being distant with me.
Remembering that I owned an auction house, I even made enquiries about bulk purchase – - but the snooty salesmen sneered at that; they wanted only to deal direct with customers and take all the profits. Pa would have wangled some deal, I knew. I wasn't my father; I refused to become his ghost.
Exclusivity did help, however. When I asked about the jewel found at Anacrites' house, I was told they would have records of who made it, who bought it and when. I described it. They professed admiration for my eloquent detail. They sent me out for lunch. When I returned, a small piece of parchment was handed over, which they insisted 'was in confidence. The cameo had been made a long time ago for an emperor who died before it was finished; it had remained at the workshop, awaiting the right buyer, until very recently.
Sadly, the eventual purchaser was not Modestus or his wife Livia Primilla, but a man in Rome called Arrius Persicus, who must have oodles of bullion, from the price he paid. It was not written down, though proudly whispered to me. The gem left the workshop only a few weeks ago. That too ruled out Modestus and Primilla. It also left no obvious link to Anacrites. Unless Persicus had disappeared mysteriously in the past month, the agent's claim to Petro and me that the cameo was found 'in undergrowth on the marshes' became suspect.
It was possible Persicus had been done in on his way back to Rome with his expensive new bijou. Petronius would have to check if he had been reported missing.
'Is he a collector of precious objects, or do you know who he bought it for?'
'Confidential, Falco.'
'Girlfriend, you mean?'
'We rather thought so.'
'I'm sure you get a smell for it… Is he married?'
'Presumably. He bought a second piece that day – very much cheaper.'
How sad life could be.
I returned to Rome, passing straight through and making my way to the Janiculan. Communicating with my own sweet wife Helena Justina was now an urgent issue.
I dumped my luggage in the porch. Times had changed: I knew people would take it in for me. I could hear my little ones romping in the gardens, with Nux barking. Instinct drew me down a path away from them. I found Helena seated on a bench that had been set up close to where we held my father's funeral. A new memorial stood there, with an inscription to Pa and a sad last line naming our lost baby son. Also Marcus Didius Justinianus, beloved of his parents: may the earth lie lightly upon him. I had not been able to ask Helena anything about this; I had to arrange it myself. I had not even seen it since the mason set it up.
Helena's attitude suggested that she came here regularly. She was not weeping, though I thought I detected tears on her cheeks. If she was managing to mourn, that was an improvement on her previous tight, tense refusal to acknowledge what had happened.
After I met her gaze, I sat beside her in silence, then we looked at the memorial together. After a time, Helena of her own accord placed her hand on mine.
It was some weeks to Helena's birthday, but when we returned to the house I gave her the blue glass vase anyway. She was worth it. I told her that; she told me I was a hound, but she still loved me. 'I would have been just as pleased at your return without a gift.' A man in my line of work has to be cynical, but I believed her.
'Just so long as you don't see it as a bribe.' This would be our only mention of Petro and me keeping that man at our house.
'Even you can't afford the size of bribe you would have needed.' 'Oh I know. At least, unlike the wife of Arrius Persicus, you know I haven't bought a bigger present for some secret mistress.'
'No, darling. Spending even this much money must have been enough of a shock.'
'I'll get used to doing it. For you.'
'Well,' said Helena graciously. 'You had better go and tell Petronius Longus what you found out.'
'You're giving me a pass out of barracks! – Not tonight, though, honeycake. I'm staying in with you.'
'Don't overdo it, Falco – or I will think you have something to hide.' Helena Justina was almost her old self again.
I really felt too travel-weary to seek out Petro but sent a message to him with news of Volusius being a mathematician and Arrius Persicus buying the cameo. He would follow up these leads. I suggested we meet up for breakfast at Flora's next day. I burrowed back into domesticity -patted the children, tickled the dog, played mental tug of war with Albia about nothing much, bathed, dined, slept.
'Anyway,' Albia had demanded, 'what did you do with that scraggy bit of rope you took away from Nux? We spent hours searching for it while you were away.'
'I burned it. You don't need to know why – - nor does the dog.'
'That was a waste. She loved her tugging rope.'
Nux was a scamp but I liked to think even she had standards. She might not have loved the rope if she knew what it was. Besides, with Anacrites repeatedly dropping in on us like an annoying uncle, the dog's toy had to be sacrificed.
While I was in Antium, he had even come up to the villa, Helena said. She told him I had gone to Praeneste for a client. She claimed it was a very attractive 'widow for whom I carried out unspeakable personal services; Anacrites had commiserated with her in apparent shock and sorrow.
'He said, This is a new side to Falco. So I snapped, You are not a very good spy if you think that! Don't relax,' Helena warned me. 'The man is not stupid. He didn't believe a word of it. Marcus, he will be wondering where you really did go.'
Next morning Helena arranged to bring the family back to our house. I had the impression sh
e had been pretty well ready to do it even if I had not arrived to fetch them. I left the villa earlier. Even up here, I checked carefully that I was not followed. The spy was a man. down now, though; perhaps he would stop haunting me.
Flora's Caupona was a decrepit drinks place in my family's part of the Aventine, run by my sister Junia. Luckily she had not yet arrived, since her mornings were occupied with the needs of her son, who was profoundly deaf. Junia had proved an inventive, devoted mother who spent hours coaxing him into basic communication. She had already had plenty of practice with her supremely dull husband, so perhaps her patience with little Marcus was not all that surprising.
In her absence the waiter Apollonius produced what the workers who formed the caupona's early passing trade had to endure as stamina food: stale bread and weak posca, the vinegary drink that is given to slaves and soldiers. Nobody who hoped for a sociable outdoor breakfast would ever come here. The tuck had one advantage, though; it was better, and safer, than what Flora's served for lunch.
Apollonius had once taught geometry at an infant school; he taught Maia and me. It would have been a neat coincidence if he had known the victim Volusius – - a coincidence to find only in a Greek adventure yarn. In real life it never happens. 'Can't say I've heard of him, Falco.'
While I waited for Petro to show, I wondered glumly if the stricken young teacher half dead of fright at Antium could also have left his job and become a wine waiter. If so, in this city with hundreds of thousands of street bars, we would never find him.
I could tell by the jaunty way Petro approached that he had made progress. During the night shift, he said, the new facts I brought from Antium turned into excellent leads.
We told Apollonius to go into the back room and stay there, reading a long scroll of Socrates.
'What if customers come?'
'We'll serve them for you.'
'You can't do that!'
'My sister owns the joint.' Wrong. I owned the joint now; Junia just managed it for me. A terrifying thought.
'You mean you'll send my customers packing!'
'Relax. We'll call you.'
One or two latecomers did try to buy stuff. We told them we were hygiene inspectors and had to close the bar down. Then indeed we sent them packing.
XLIX
Even after his shift, Petronius was buoyant. 'Let's start with the gem-buyer. Marcus, my boy, you've done well.'
'Persicus?'
'Persicus! He meant nothing to me, but Fusculus recognised the name.'
'Fusculus is a lad.'
'He's a sparkler. Too good, I'm afraid. Rubella will probably transfer him to another cohort for "career development".'
'How does he know about Persicus? We were not aware of him before, surely?'
'We could have been. He never showed on a statement, but while the Seventh Cohort were formally telling Rubella and me about that murdered courier, a couple of troops waited outside; talking to Fusculus, they gave up extra details. Their written reports are as skimpy as a whore's nightgown. I suspect their clerk can't even write – one of their centurions' halfwit cousins, who got the job as a favour…' He calmed down when I grinned. 'But their enquiry chief asked the right questions. The carter was forced to supply details of the courier's package, in case it was relevant – - or the Seventh even found it.'
'Have they?'
'Don't make me weep! The carter said the parcel was a load of cushion stuffing, sent by a client to his country estate.'
'The client was Arrius Persicus?'
'Correct. This is the good bit. He's alive and well and has never mentioned losing any fabulous cameo.'
I guffawed. 'In case his wife finds out he has a girlfriend! Shouldn't cushion stuffing go the other way? Wool, feathers, straw – they all come from the country into Rome.'
'Exactly.' Petro tried to winkle crumbs of the stale bread we were gnawing from between his teeth. The crumbs clung on resolutely. Junia must have Apollonius spread it with cow-heel glue as some new gourmet fashion. 'The crucial parcel didn't sound significant initially – which was a clever ploy. The Seventh thought they could forget about it. So let's think: why dispatch a load of cheap stuffing via an expensive courier?'
'Obvious: something costly was concealed inside.'
'You bet.'
We sat quiet for a beat, thinking.
'Anyway – don't let's get too excited too fast. Fusculus has gone to ask the carter about it on the sly. We still have to pretend we're not intervening in Anacrites' case. If the cameo was in the courier's parcel, then it's a lead – but you and I need a long, hard think about the implications…'
'I'll start thinking too much now, unless you distract me. So, what about the teacher with the numerical sideline?'
Petronius perked up. 'Found him. Easy. The mathematicians list is one of the shortest: thank you, Jove. Volusius may have died eight years ago. At any rate, he vanished from our records – - which is hard to achieve, once we have a rascal in our blotted scroll.'
I groaned. 'Dead end?'
'Not quite.' Petronius gave up on Flora's breakfast and threw what was left of his bread to a pigeon in the street. It flew off, affronted. He sniffed the acetic posca then dashed that into the gutter too. 'He lived with his mother, off the Clivus Suburanus, close to the Porticus of Livia. I'm whacked and old dames don't have enough verve to keep my eyes open. I'm going home to bed but you, being a layabout with time on your hands, may fancy a chat with her.'
I said I was always available to do work the noble Lucius found too much for him. And while he could only chat up pretty things of twenty, I was more versatile and could charm even older women.
Petronius let me get away with that, because he was bursting with one further fact. 'While I had the old documents spread around the room, my eye fell on something.' Calm by nature, he seemed excitable now: 'I found one of the Claudii!'
'Speak, oracle!'
'I'm sure it's him. Two years ago, a Claudius Virtus, newly arrived in Rome from Latium, appeared as a person of interest.'
'What had he done? Joined a dodgy religion?'
'Depends how you categorise cults, Marcus. We have him down as taking an interest in astrology.'
'Stargazing?'
'People-forecasting- wickedness. I hate that stuff. Life's dire without finding out in advance what will be dumped on you by Fate.'
'According to Anacrites, when he turned on me recently, when Fate gives you anything worth having, if you dare to enjoy your good fortune, remorseless Nemesis will fly up to snatch it away.'
'Is he sniping at your legacy?'
'You guessed. Is Virtus still living in the same place?'
'Who knows? We don't always update our records unless some name bobs up in a new offence.'
I said that in addition to Volusius' mother I would visit Virtus, but Petronius would not reveal the address. He would meet me for lunch after a few hours' rest, then we could go together. I promised to round up one of the Camilli, or both, to accompany us. Lunch could be at my house; Flora's had lost our custom.
'We should go armed. These bastards collect spears. The Urbans carry swords and knives – - why don't we ask Silvius for back-up?'
Petronius Longus was a vigiles man and he would never change. Despite the supposed joint operation with Silvius, he assumed a vague expression. 'Let's you and I just take a quiet recce first.' He was as keen on inter-cohort co-operation as a fifteen-year-old boy thinking about purity.
'Fine. We'll tiptoe up like cat burglars… I could knock on the door for a horoscope – but I don't want Virtus to look into my future and see when he and his stinking brother Nobilis will be arrested.'
'Don't worry.' Lucius Petronius had no faith in clairvoyance. 'He won't even be able to foresee what he's getting for lunch.'
'Right. What's your star sign, by the way? You're under the Virgin, aren't you?'
'Believe that, Marcus, if it gives pleasure to your childish mind.'
L
I sent
a runner to tell Aulus and Quintus to come over for lunch.
Meanwhile, I went alone to find the teacher's last known address.
It was a dismal mission. I found the apartment, in a tangle of narrow lanes on the way to the Esquiline Gate; indoors, as she generally must be, was the ancient, widowed mother. I guessed she had lost her husband young. Perhaps there had been a legacy; the rental where she lived – - where she had brought up her only son Volusius – - was cramped but just about tolerable. She was the proud kind, to whom poverty must be perpetually shameful. She had scrimped to get her boy an education, investing all her own hopes in his obvious potential. Although he became a teacher, because of his experience at Antium only disappointment followed. She was now half-blind, but taking in tunics to mend, to keep from starving.
Volusius was dead. His mother said he had never recovered from his fright that day at Latium. It affected him so badly he could no longer teach. He lost his job at the local school, then failed to find other work. He moped around as a loser, became mentally disturbed and committed suicide – - threw himself in the river just after the second anniversary of being abducted.
'Did he talk about what had happened?'
'He could never bear to.'
'You went there to fetch him home afterwards. Was he in a bad state?'
'Terrible. He knew we had to pass the place where he had met those men. He froze at the memory. He was shaking so much when we tried to set off home, the people at the villa had to give him a sleeping draught and send us in a cart. Once I got him home, he woke up in familiar surroundings and just broke down crying. He kept saying to me he was sorry – as if what happened was somehow his fault.'
'I was hoping, if I could find him, he could describe the men who took him.'
The mother shook her head. 'Scum!'
Such vehemence in the mouth of a civilised woman was ugly. The lasting effect on her was an extra consequence of the killings. This mother had not only lost her only son, too young, but all her own hopes. What happened to Volusius was on her mind daily. Now she lived alone, dwindling arthritically into fear and despair. There was no one left to take care of her. She was going to need looking after soon, and I could see she knew it.
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