Lindsey Davis - Falco 13 - A Body In The Bath House

by A Body In The Bath House(lit)

  “You then ship the ashes home to relatives?” He looked embarrassed. “Too much trouble,” I agreed calmly. “I bet half the crew here have never named a blood relation to be contacted.”

  “They are supposed to,” I was assured earnestly.

  “Of course.” I tapped his chest. “Have you put your wife or your mother on a scroll?”

  Alexas began to speak, then paused and grinned back at me. “Now you mention it…”

  “I know. We all think anything bad will happen to some other man.

  This one was mistaken, though.”

  The body was cool. I was told nobody saw what happened. It looked as though he came off cleanly; there were certainly no signs that he scraped his hands trying to regain a grip. There were no real marks on him. The fatal injuries must be internal. If anybody shoved the poor fellow to make him lose his footing, then they had left no evidence.

  “Where did his fall happen?”

  “The old house.”

  “It’s under scaffold, I know. Isn’t there some dispute over the building’s future?”

  Tin not the man to ask,” Alexas said. “If they are demolishing any part of it, Valla would have been salvaging tiles.”

  “Hmm. So what’s your theory?”

  “What do you mean?” asked the orderly in genuine puzzlement.

  “Is this death suspicious?”

  “Of course not.”

  An informer gets used to being assured that stabbings and stranglings are ‘merely accidents’. I had come to expect lies whenever I asked questions-but maybe a world still existed where people suffered ordinary mishaps.

  “Did he let out a cry, do you know, Alexas?”

  “Would that be important?”

  “If he was pushed, he might have protested. If he jumped, or fell, he might have been more likely to stay silent.”

  “Shall I try to find out for you?”

  “Not worth it, thanks.” It would be inconclusive anyway. “The palace project has hardly started but this is not your first fatality.”

  “It won’t be the last either.”

  “Can I see any of the other bodies?”

  He stared. “Of course not. Long gone in funeral pyres.”

  Suspicious as ever, I was wondering about a cover-up. “Did you inspect the bodies, Alexas?”

  “I saw some. “Inspect” is too strong a word. We had a man felled by one of those end fmials off roofs-‘ Alexas went out to his wound dressing area, rooted under a counter and produced the guilty party: it was a deadweight lump in the shape of a four-sided arch-a miniature tetra pylon with a ball on top. He dumped it in my arms and I staggered slightly.

  “Yes, that could dent your skull!” I shed it fast, onto the shelf. “You keeping it for something?”

  “Make a nice bird hut.” Alexas grinned. People on building sites are always snaffling materials for their own domestic purposes. I noticed one of the four legs was stained. “Sparrows won’t notice a bit of blood, Falco!”

  “Hmm… Any other mishaps?”

  “A slab of uncut marble flattened someone. The marble supervisor was furious that it got damaged; he said it was priceless.”

  “A heartless swine?”

  “He reacted without thinking, I suppose. Then another man got swiped with a spade in a fight last week.”

  “Unusual?”

  “Unfortunately not. Construction sites are always full of tools-and hot-headed men who can wield them skilfully.”

  “I came across a spade killing in Rome before I left,” I said, again thinking of Stephanus being swiped and stuffed under Pa’s new mosaic.

  “I’ve seen plenty,” scoffed Alexas. “Axe-deaths. Crane decapitations. Drownings, crushings, leg and arm amputations ‘

  “All these have happened on the palace scheme?” I was horrified.

  “No, Falco. Some have happened. Others may yet.”

  “A man was stabbed, I hear? Knife fight. Drink involved.”

  “So I believe. I heard it happened in the town. The body was not brought here.” He was patient, but he thought me a time-waster.

  “Alexas, don’t misread me. I’m not looking for trouble. I just heard that the death count was too high here and it might be significant.”

  “Significant of what? Slack management?”

  Well, that would do as an explanation until I found a more precise definition. If that was ever possible.

  I left him to staunch a workman’s blood-dripping finger. I noticed that he carried out the task with calmness -just as he faced everything, including me jumping about looking for scandals.

  Now that I had talked to him, I thought I understood him. He was a man in his middle twenties, with drab colouring and a dull personality, who had found a niche as a specialist. He was happy. He seemed to know that in rougher areas of life he would have ended up a nobody. Some lucky chance had brought him to work at the routine end of medicine. He dispensed herbal remedies, staunched blood on straightforward wounds. Decided when a surgeon ought to be sent for. Listened to depressives with a helpful manner. Perhaps once in his career he would encounter a real maniac who needed tying down in a hurry. Perhaps his ignorance killed off a few patients, but that’s true of more doctors than doctors will admit. On the whole, society was the better for his existence and that knowledge pleased him.

  I suppose it pleased me to think that Alexas would regard it as a matter of professional competence to report any irregularity. I would find no clues otherwise. I would have to rely on Alexas for information on the past ‘accidents’.

  But the situation was covered now: I was here. That should reassure anyone who had the misfortune to be done in in murky circumstances!

  When I left the medical post, somebody was hanging about outside in a way that made me look twice at him. I felt he was intending to quiz Alexas about me. When I stared straight at him he changed his mind. “You’re Falco.”

  “Can I help you?”

  “Lupus.”

  Broad-browed and squat-bodied, with a tan that said he had lived out of doors in all weathers for maybe forty years, he seemed familiar. “And your position is?”

  “Labour supervisor.”

  “Right!” He had been at the project meeting; Cyprianus pointed him out to me. “Local or foreign workers?”

  Lupus looked surprised that I knew there were two. I just waited. He muttered, “I do the overseas.”

  There were benches outside the bandage house for queuing patients. I sat down and encouraged Lupus to do likewise. “And where are you from yourself?”

  “Arsinoe.” It sounded like a hole at the back of a gully in the desert.

  “Where’s that?”

  “Egypt!” he said proudly. Reading my mind, the loyal sand flea added, “Yes, yes; it’s the place they call Crocodilopolis.”

  I took out my note-tablet and a stylus. “I need to talk to you. Was Valla one of your men? Gaudius? Or the man who died in the knife fight at the canabae?”

  “Valla, Dubnus and Eporix were mine.”

  “Eporix?”

  “A roof feature fell on him.” The heavy fmial Alexas showed me.

  “And tell me about the knife victim? That was Dubnus, wasn’t it?”

  “Big Gaul. A complete ass. How he managed not to get himself slaughtered twenty years before this, I’ll never know.”

  Lupus spoke matter-of-factly. I could accept that half his workforce were mad hats Almost certainly they came from poor backgrounds. They led a gruelling life with few rewards. “Give me the picture.” I left off the stylus to look informal.

  “What do you want?”

  “Background. How things work. What are the good and bad aspects? Where does your labour hail from? Are they happy? How do you feel yourself?”

  “They come from Italy mostly. Along the way a few Gauls are recruited. Spaniards. Eporix was one of my Hispanians. The tine trades get workers from the east or central Europe; they pick up on the orders for materials in the marble yards
or wherever, and follow the carts looking for high wages or adventure.”

  “Are the wages good?”

  Lupus guffawed. “This is an imperial project, Falco. The men just think they will get special rates.”

  “Do you have trouble attracting labour?”

  “It’s a prestigious contract.”

  “One which will embarrass people in high places if it goes wrong!” I grinned. After a moment, Lupus grinned back. Dry lips parted slowly and reluctantly; he was a cautious partaker of mirth. Or just cautious. He was at least talking to me, but I did not fool myself. I could not expect his trust.

  “Yes, it’s rather public.” Lupus grimaced. “Otherwise, it may be bloody big, but it’s just domestic, isn’t it?”

  “Major engineering is more complex?”

  “The governor’s palace in Londinium has more clout. I wouldn’t say no to a transfer there.”

  “Any snobbery because the client is a Briton?”

  “I don’t care who he is. And I don’t let the men complain.”

  Most of his front teeth were missing. I wondered how many barroom fights accounted for his losses. He was of burly build. He looked capable of handling himself, and of splitting up any troublemakers.

  “So you have a whole crowd of migrant workers scores, or hundreds even?” I asked, recalling him to the subject. Lupus nodded, confirming the larger number. “What sort of life is there for the men? They get basic accommodation?”

  “Temporary hutments close to the site.”

  “No privacy, no room to breathe

  “Worse than house slaves at some luxury villas-but better than slaves in the mines,” Lupus shrugged.

  “Yours is tree labour?”

  “Mixture. But I hate slaves,” he said. “A big site’s too open. Too many transports leaving. I don’t have time to stop the merry hordes running off.”

  “So your men get adequate rations, washing facilities and a roof.”

  “If the weather holds, our fellows are out of doors all day. We want them fit and full of energy.”

  “Like the army.”

  “The same, Falco.”

  “So how is discipline?”

  “Not too bad.”

  “But the high value of materials on site leads to diddling?”

  “We keep the risky stuff locked away in decent stores.”

  “I’ve seen the depot with the new fence.”

  “Yes, well. You wouldn’t think there was anywhere around here to sell the stuff, or any means of moving it away but some bugger will always manage. I arrange the best watchmen I can, and we’ve brought in dogs to help them. Then we just hope.”

  “Hmm.” That was an area I had to pursue later. “And how is life out here? The men have leisure time?”

  He groaned. “They do.”

  “Tell me.”

  “That’s where my troubles really start. They are bored. They are thinking they will get large bonuses-and half of them spend the money before we even dole it out. They have access to beer there’s too much, and some are not used to it. They rape the native women or so the women’s fathers claim when they come haranguing me-and they beat up the native men.”

  “That’s the fathers, husbands, lovers and brothers of their attractive lady friends?”

  “For starters. Or on the right night, my lads will take on anyone else who has a long haircut, a strong accent, or funny trousers and a red moustache.” Lupus almost sounded proud of their spirit. “If they can’t find a Briton to abuse, they just beat up each other instead. The Italians gang up on the Gauls. When that palls, for variety the Italians tear into each other and the Gauls do the same. That’s less tricky to deal with in some ways than distraught civilian Britons hoping for a compensation payout, though it leaves me short-handed. Pomponius gives me all Hades if too many on the complement are laid up with cracked heads. But, Falco -‘ Lupus stretched towards me earnestly ‘this is just life on a building site abroad. It is happening all over the Empire.”

  “And you are saying it means nothing?”

  “It means I have my work cut out but that’s what I’m here for. These are simple lads, mostly. When they start a feud, I can find out what’s up by reading the curse tablets they lay lovingly at shrines. May Vertigius the snotty tiler lose his willy for stealing my red tunic, and may his chilblains hurt him very much indeed. Vertigius is a swine and I don’t like him. Also, may the foreman, that cruel and unfair person Lupus, rot and have no luck with girls.”

  I laughed quietly. Then I threw in, “Are you unfair, Lupus?”

  “Oh I look after my favourites scrupulously, Falco.”

  I thought not. He seemed like a man who was as much in control of a slippery situation as he could be. He seemed to understand his men, to love their craziness, to tolerate their stupidity. I reckoned he would defend them against outsiders. I thought only the truly mad among them and a few real lunatics would be on the payroll would seriously curse Lupus.

  “And how are you with girls?” I asked mischievously.

  “Mind your own business! Well, I do all right,” Lupus could not resist boasting.

  He was an ugly trout. But that meant nothing. Toothless whippers in can be popular. He held a position of authority and his manner was confident. Some women will sidle up to anyone in charge.

  I stretched. “Thanks for all that. Now tell me, have you a couple of recent acquisitions from Rome called Gloccus and Cotta?”

  “Um -not that I can think of. Do you want to scan my rolls of honour?”

  “You keep lists?”

  “Of course. Pay,” he explained sarcastically.

  “Yes, I’ll look through them, please.” They could be using false names. Any pair of tradesmen who had turned up just before me would be worth checking out. “Just one more question you control the immigrant labour, but I gather there are British workers too?”

  Perhaps Lupus closed in slightly. “That’s right, Falco.” He stood up and was already leaving. “Mandumerus runs the local team. You’ll have to ask him.”

  There was nothing in his tone to imply a feud directly, yet I felt he and Mandumerus were not friends.

  “By the way, Falco,” he informed me as we parted. “Pomponius asked me to pass on his apologies; he mistook you for a travelling salesman we get a lot coming around to bother us.”

  “Mistook me, eh?” I sucked my teeth.

  “He sent a message he’s found the scroll explaining you. He wants to give you a presentation about the full scheme. Tomorrow. In the plan room.”

  “Sounds like that’s all of tomorrow taken care of, then!”

  He grinned.

  XIII

  helena came with me from Noviomagus for the project presentation. On arrival at the palace, we wandered around the scaffolded part and looked at the roof where poor Valla must have fallen to his death.

  It was a straightforward case of sending a man aloft, on his own, too high up, with inadequate protection. Apparently.

  We had time in hand. Turning back, we surveyed what they called the old house. Togidubnus’ palace, his reward for allowing the Romans into Britain, must have stood out in the land of hill forts and forest hovels. Even this early version was a gem. His fellow-kings and their tribesmen were still living in those large round huts with smoke holes in their pointed roofs, where several families would cram in festively together along with their chickens, ticks and favourite goats; but Togi was fabulously set up. The main range of the royal home comprised a fine and substantial rornanised stone building. It would be a desirable property if it stood on the shores of the lake at Nemi; in this wilderness it was an absolute cracker.

  A double veranda gave protection from the weather, opening onto a large colonnaded garden. It was well tended; someone enjoyed this amenity. Set slightly apart from the living suite for safety, the unmistakable domed roofs of what might well be the only private bath house in this province lay on the seaward side. Gentle smoke from the furnace told us Vespasian did not
need to send the King a civilisation trainer to teach him what the baths were for.

  Helena dragged me to explore. I made her take care, for some architectural features were in the process of being stripped by the builders. This included the colonnaded pillars around the garden; they had highly unusual, rather elegant capitals, with extravagant rams’ horn volutes, from between which worrying tribal faces wreathed in oak leaves peered out at us.

  “Too wild and woody for me!” Helena cried. “Give me simple bead and dart tops.”

  I agreed with her. “The mystical eyes seem to be an outdated tad. I gestured at the columns being dismantled. “Pomponius starts a client’s refit by tearing down everything in sight.” I noticed that these columns were coated with stucco, “which in some places was peeling as the stone beneath flaked. Weathering had forced hideous cracks in their render. “Poor Togi! Let down by tacky Claudian tat. See; this apparently noble Corinthian pillar is just a composite-thrown together on the cheap, with a lifespan of less than twenty years!”

  “You are shocked, Marcus Didius,” Helena’s eyes danced.

  “This is no way for the Golden City to reward a valued ally-nasty chunks of old tile and packing material, thrown together and surfaced over.”

  “Yet I can see why the King likes it,” said Helena. “It has been a fine home; I expect he’s very fond of it.”

  “He’s fonder still of expensive fiddling.”

  A window flew open. No tat this; it was a tightly carpentered hardwood effort with opaque panes, set in a beautifully moulded marble frame. The marble looked conspicuously Carraran. Not many of my neighbours could afford the genuine white stuff. I felt my sell growing envious.

  Wild ginger dreadlocks flailed; around a fleshy bull neck I recognised the heavy electrum torque that must be nearly choking its excited owner.

  “You are the man!” shrieked the King’s representative in stilted Latin.

  “The man from Rome,” I corrected him firmly. I like to pass on colloquial phrases when I travel among the barbarians. “Gives a better tone of menace.”