Nemesis - Falco 20

by Lindsey Davis

  It was a shock - - though not if you knew what was coming. The trouble with the tired old Trojan hog trick is it only works once. Was I jaded? I made an effort to look excited - well, mildly - though even Claudia forgot her natural generosity and muttered to me, ‘Those Lucanian sausages look very undercooked! I don’t think I’ll eat them.’

  The crackling was good, though full of bristles.

  XXXIII

  Some time while everyone was gnawing tough pork, then picking their teeth discreetly, I noticed that Albia had slipped away from the table. Her absence went unremarked by others. As the main course ended, people were behaving informally. One by one they went out for a natural break, on their return taking the opportunity to move around and talk to different guests. Justinus was now alongside his brother. Helena abandoned Hosidia and crossed the room for a chat with Claudia.

  I was bored with Anacrites’ well-clad back as he listened to Minas. Luckily the gloopy singer reappeared; he had picked up the Cretan shepherds’ habit of explaining everything long-windedly - so often, of course, lamenting young sailors lured to their doom by sinister sea-nymphs or brides who had died on their wedding day. When he announced, ‘The next song is a very sad one’, I went to find a lavatory.

  I explored in a desultory fashion, but I had been in the house before and seen all I wanted of the layout, decor and cold living arrangements. I found the kitchen, with the caterers engaged in washing bowls - - most of them, anyway; I had passed a couple sidling about, probably pinching Anacrites’ fancy curios.

  The services were, as I expected, next to the kitchen - - functional, but with the faint unscrubbed odour you expect in a male establishment. (I was well trained; in a strange house it is a man’s duty to report to his wife what the facilities are like.) Emerging, I took a wrong turn somehow.

  I ended up in servants’ quarters, a series of undecorated small rooms that served routine purposes. There were sacks of onions, buckets and besoms. Even a spy has to endure the domestic - - though I bet Anacrites put his onion-seller through an oral security test. That would explain why he had been sold mouldy, sprouting ones.

  I spotted a figure ahead of me, slipping down a passageway. He did not hear me call out for directions, but he had left a door open and I heard voices. In one of the rooms, Anacrites’ two legmen were sitting with a draughtsboard. I was surprised; I would expect him to keep work and home separate. Instead, the Melitans, as I called them, gave the impression this was a regular haunt. Their room had a sour smell that hinted of long-term use.

  The duo were not playing, just talking. They could be arguing about whose turn it was to remove their food tray (there was a large jumble of used crockery and utensils piled ready to go back to the kitchen). They barely troubled to react to my appearance.

  ‘Lost my way.’

  Neither spoke. One waved an arm. I turned out of the room, pointed myself in the direction he indicated, and departed. After I walked off, their voices stopped abruptly, however.

  They might not be Melitan, but they definitely were brothers. They had the same facial looks, the same dress code (dingy tunics; open-strapped shin boots), the same movements and accents (I had noticed they talked Latin). Most of all, the way they behaved together was the way Festus and I used to be: that blend of spats and tolerance only brothers have.

  Back on familiar ground, curiosity drew me to a colonnaded peristyle, formally planted around a statue of three half-size nymphs. This was where the dining room really ought to be situated. I wondered if there was in fact a better triclinium than Anacrites had assigned to us.

  I was looking for Albia. Sure enough, she was there on a low wall, looking in at the courtyard. She was just sitting, so I paused. Albia had gone out for a break from watching Aelianus being polite to his wife. It would be best if she could work through her heartache privately.

  Someone else interrupted her reverie: Anacrites strolled through the colonnade opposite. Crossing a corner of the garden, he went straight over to Albia. He sat on the wall beside her, not so near as to make her nervous, though near enough to worry me.

  ‘There you are!’ he said easily, as though she had been missed, not perhaps by the company but by him. To reinforce his position as a careful host, he added, ‘I am glad I saw you hiding here. Helena Justina told me all about your unhappiness.’

  ‘Really!’ He would have his work cut out with Albia. He played it well, saying nothing more until she asked in her blunt way, ‘What are you doing away from your guests?’

  Anacrites rubbed the tips of two fingers against his right temple. ‘Sometimes commotion disturbs me.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Albia, the unfeeling adolescent, answered. ‘I heard you had your head smashed in.’

  He managed to sound rueful. ‘I don’t remember much about it.’

  ‘Does it affect your work?’

  ‘Not often. The effects are random. Days may be good or bad. It’s very frustrating.’

  ‘So what happens?’

  ‘I think I have partly lost my powers of concentration.’ It must be three years since his head wound; he had had time to learn how to cope.

  ‘That’s awkward. You might lose your job. Do you have to conceal it from everyone?’

  ‘Whoa!’ In the teeth of Albia’s relentless attack, Anacrites made it jocular: ‘I’m the spy. I’m supposed to ask the heavy questions.’

  ‘Ask one then!’

  Anacrites leaned back his head against a pillar. He was savouring the peace and quiet, resting. ‘Do you like my little garden?’

  Oil lamps had been dotted around the rest of the house, though there were none out here, probably to avoid attracting insects. In the last light of evening, only outlines of climbers and topiary showed, though there were pleasant scents and a faint splash from some informal water feature. A boy grotesque, pouring from a vase, maybe. I did not see Anacrites as a two-doves-on-a-scallop-shell man.

  ‘It’s not bad.’

  ‘I have it looked after by professional horticulturalists. They claim they need to visit every day to keep things trim. It costs a fortune.’

  ‘Are you rich?’

  ‘Of course not; I work for the government.’

  ‘Spies don’t do gardening?’

  ‘No idea how to.’

  ‘Falco can dig and prune.’

  ‘Unlike your father, I never had a country background. Do you call Falco your father, by the way?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I was not sure what kind of arrangement Falco and Helena had about you.’ Anacrites was obviously hinting there was something irregular he could use against us.

  ‘I have my citizen’s certificate!’ Albia slapped him down.

  Anacrites jumped on it: ‘Was that after appearing before an Arbitration Board?’

  ‘Not necessary in a foreign province,’ Albia sneered. ‘The governor has full jurisdiction. Frontinus approved it. Didius Falco and Helena Justina adopted me.’

  ‘So formal?’ So necessary, with people like him out to get us.

  ‘Well, there you are, Anacrites. You don’t know everything about Falco!’

  Though I grinned at the way she attacked him, I kept absolutely still. I was standing in shadow, by a great tangle of foliage supported on some kind of obelisk. Anacrites’ eyes wandered one way and another. I reckoned he suspected I was somewhere watching and listening.

  ‘You talk as if you think I am pursuing Falco! He and I are colleagues, Albia. We have worked together many times. In the year of the Census, we worked very hard in a perfectly good partnership; the Emperor congratulated us. I remember that as a happy experience. I feel very affectionate towards Marcus Didius.’

  ‘Oh he loves you too!’ Albia chopped the subject off. ‘Tell me about Antonia Caenis and Istria. Why did she care so much about where she came from? Was she hoping to find her ancestors?’

  ‘That I don’t know. Perhaps she was. We all have a yearning to discover our background, don’t we?’ Anacrites’ question
was incongruous from him.

  ‘I think what matters is the person we are now.’

  ‘That sounds like Helena Justina talking.’

  ‘She speaks good sense.’

  ‘Oh yes; I too admire her immensely.’

  ‘Are you jealous of Falco for having Helena?’

  ‘Certainly not. It would be inappropriate.’

  ‘Why are you not married?’

  ‘Never seemed to find the time.’

  ‘Don’t you like women? Do you prefer men?’

  ‘I like women. My work tends to mean keeping very much to myself.’

  ‘Not many friends then? Or no friends at all? You were a slave too -like Caenis. Do you know about your own family?’

  ‘I have some idea.’

  ‘Really? Did you ever meet them?’

  ‘My earliest memory is being among the palace scribes.’

  ‘So you must have been taken away from your parents very young? Was that hard?’

  ‘I never knew anything different. Where I found myself, we were all the same. I enjoyed my training. It seemed normal.’

  ‘So - - I always want to ask people this - - don’t you want to try to find your relatives? If anyone could do it, a spy should be able to.’

  ‘I suppose you ask this question because you feel a driving need to find your own people?’

  ‘Oh I shall never discover who I first belonged to. I accept that. I was orphaned in the British Rebellion. I’d like to think I am a mysterious British princess - that would be so romantic, wouldn’t it? But I don’t have red hair and the poor people I grew up with firmly believed I was a Roman trader’s child. I suppose there were circumstances that suggested it, back when they found me. Because of the terrible events and confusion, that will be all I ever know. I am realistic. The uncertainties can never be cleared up, so some avenues in society are closed to me.’

  ‘Is that why you are unhappy, Albia?’

  ‘No, it’s because men are deceitful pigs who use people for convenience then look after their own interests.’

  ‘Camillus Aelianus?’

  ‘Oh, not just him!’

  ‘It is sad to hear a young girl speak so bitterly.’

  ‘Now who is being romantic?’

  ‘I suppose your anger is because Aelianus betrayed your hopes and married Hosidia … Hosidia what? Does she only have one name?’

  ‘Her family know her as Meline, but “Hosidia Meline” - - a Roman name then a Greek one - would sound like a freed slave. She is not one, of course. Some people despise professors, but it goes without saying, they wouldn’t have got to be professors if they were poor. Minas must have a prosperous family if he went to Athens to learn law. Still “Meline” wouldn’t do, not among senators. Vespasian may have got away with his mistress, but he is an unusual character. The Camilli have to look respectable.’

  ‘I am very impressed, Albia. How did you dig all this out?’

  ‘That’s my secret. I’ve watched Falco. I could do his work. I could do yours.’

  ‘I would be charmed to have you - - but, unfortunately, we don’t use women in the intelligence service.’

  ‘Yes you do. I’ve heard of Perella, the dancer. There was a lot of talk about Perella in Britain. You gave her an assignment to eliminate a corrupt official.’

  ‘Oh really?’

  ‘Anacrites, don’t bluff.’

  ‘I know Perella, certainly. She is a superb dancer.’

  ‘She cut a man’s throat. To get rid of him and avert a public scandal. Everyone knew you sent her.’

  ‘I heartily deny that rumour! What a slur on the integrity of our beloved Emperor and the high ethos of his staff. Don’t spread this story, please, or I shall be forced to impose a gagging order … Anyway, you are much too sweet to want to do work like that.’

  ‘I would not want to do it, but I would like to know how. Skills give you confidence and power.’

  ‘I would say you have quite enough confidence, young lady. And you had better be kept away from power!’

  ‘Spoilsport.’

  ‘There you sit, looking neat, thoughtful and demure. That, I am sure, is how your adoptive parents are bringing you up. Falco and Helena would be shocked to hear the way you have talked to me.’

  ‘Regretful, maybe - but not surprised.’ She was only half right; I was startled by the way she took the spy on.

  ‘Well, I am shocked, Albia.’

  ‘You’re easily shocked then. Why? You do filthy work. You are a spy and you co-operate with the Praetorian Guards. That means unfair arrests, torture, intimidation. Nothing I have said is so very outrageous, just honest. Life made me hard. Harder than the average Roman maiden of my new father’s rank, or some pampered girl brought up in higher circles. I’m harder even than the daughters of poor craftsmen, who have to work in the family business, but who are free to chatter away their days until some dumb husband claims them. I come from the streets. I am sure you poked about and learned that about me.’

  ‘Why ever would I investigate you, my dear?’

  ‘It’s what you do. To put pressure on Didius Falco.’

  ‘That’s a myth - and libel.’

  ‘Better hire an informer then, to make your case in court… So you say you are above jealousy? Why then, Anacrites, do you do stupid things like stealing that case Falco and Petronius worked so hard on? They had their teeth into it, and are perfectly capable.’

  Anacrites jumped up in a spurt of irascibility. ‘Olympus! If the Modestus enquiry means so much to them, that ridiculous pair can have it back. There was nothing underhand; it just seems a suitable case for my own organisation! A normal redistribution of the workload, once I was available to supervise.’

  ‘So the terrible Claudii don’t have some hold over you?’

  ‘Who thinks that? Don’t be ridiculous!’ The spy was pacing about in the courtyard. Albia, my dogged, darling fosterling, stayed where she was. Briefly, Anacrites put both hands on either side of his forehead, as if troubled again mentally. ‘Falco asked me just now how the case was going. He was satisfied with my answer.’

  ‘I doubt that.’

  Anacrites stopped. ‘Did Falco put you up to this?’

  ‘Rubbish. He would be frothing at the mouth if he realised you were talking to me. What - out here in the dark, away from the company, a young girl who has only just begun to go to adult parties and a man in a position of public authority, her host, maybe thirty years her senior?’

  ‘Quite right!’ Anacrites’ voice was clipped. He held out an arm formally. ‘I have enjoyed our talk, but I should return you to our fellow guests. Come!’

  It was Albia’s turn to stand up, swishing her skirts to put them back in order. She kept out of reach. ‘I shall return myself, thank you. If we went back together, after so long away from the couches, my parents would be bound to think you had been making dreadful overtures.’

  ‘Your father makes his own crazy decisions about me - - though I would hate Helena Justina to suppose I harbour guilty thoughts.’

  ‘You don’t?’

  ‘I do not.’

  ‘You mean, because you respect Falco too much?’

  ‘No, Albia,’ replied Anacrites, returning to his insidious smoothness. ‘Because I respect you.’

  It was the perfect answer - if it was honest. Albia should be flattered, impressed and charmed. Producing that smooth reply just proved what I had always thought: Anacrites was deadly dangerous.

  As he led her away, he looked back and his pale eyes swept the colonnades again. He was wavering, no longer certain whether I was hidden there. Knowing me, he just thought it must be likely.

  Albia had kept him hopping. But much of what he said must have been aimed at me.

  XXXIV

  I let Anacrites and Albia go ahead. A tall, slim figure separated off from near another corner of the garden. A woman called in a low voice, ‘Marcus! Is that you?’

  ‘Helena!’ We met along one of the colonnades. My
hand found hers. ‘So how long were you lurking there? Did you hear all of that?’

  ‘Most of it.’

  ‘I didn’t put her up to it - so did you?’

  I felt Helena bridle. ‘I would never put her in such danger! I came to find her.’

  ‘Did you really tell Anacrites about her yen for Aulus?’

  ‘Of course not. Anacrites was lying, and I shall make sure she knows that. For one thing, whatever occurred between her and my brother - - or whatever Albia thought at the time - she really has not talked about it. Besides, give me credit; I have more loyalty to her. Marcus, she’s just a girl. He frightens me.’

  ‘I was impressed by how she handled that.’

  ‘It’s not safe for her.’

  ‘We’ll have to see she never comes within his orbit.’

  ‘Too late! He knows about her,’ Helena told me morosely. ‘He knows he can hurt you - us - through her. And I’m afraid she, too, will be hurt in the process.’

  As we went around a really dark corner, I pulled her close to kiss her and take her mind off her fears. It failed to work on Helena, though it cheered me up.

  Temporarily.

  We ran into Aulus and Quintus, chortling in a corridor. They admitted they had nipped off so Quintus could show his brother the cabinet of obscene statues. ‘How did you monkeys get in there?’

  ‘We asked ourselves what you would do, Marcus - then we broke the lock.’ Justinus spoke as if he had brought along a crowbar specially. ‘The spy can blame his fancy caterers. They are crawling everywhere.’ That fitted my fancy that Laeta was paying them to observe.

  ‘And was the “art” collection revolting?’ Helena asked. The lads assured her they were shocked. However, Justinus reckoned there were fewer pieces than when he stayed here last winter; Anacrites may have felt alarmed that other people knew about his filthy gallery so he had sold the most sinister pieces. A spy needs to avoid scandal. Besides, as I knew from Pa’s business, he would have made a killing from any of the private pornography collectors.