Time to Depart (16 page)

XXXII

A small, serious figure greeted me as I turned into Fountain Court.

'Uncle Marcus! May Mercury god of the crossroads ever watch over you!'

Only Maia's eldest boy, Marius, ever sounded off so formally. He was a good-looking, extremely solemn little person, eight years old and completely self-possessed.

'Marius! I was not expecting you until after afternoon school. Are you particularly fond of me, or just very short of money for pastries?'

'I've organised a rota for you. Cornelius will be on guard duty this afternoon, then Ancus. You should pay me, and I'll do the sharing out.' Maia had made all her children excellent foremen. Both I and my rubbish were in safe hands. But his mind appeared to be somewhere else. 'We have a crisis,' he announced, as if I were a partner in disaster. Marius believed in the sanctity of personal relationships: I was family; I would help.

The best help to offer was the sacred art of spotting trouble and bunking off the other way. 'Well I'm very busy on official business. But I'm always available if you need advice.'

'I'm afraid I'm heading for a row,' confessed Marius, walking with me towards the apartment. 'I expect you would like me to tell you what has transpired.'

'Frankly, Marius, one more problem and I'll buckle.'

'I rather hoped I could rely on you,' he said gloomily. Short of bopping him on the head with a baton and sprinting for cover, I was trapped.

'You're a hard master! Have you ever thought of becoming a bailiff?'

'No, I think I shall be a rhetoric teacher. I have the mind for it.'

Had he not borne his father's eyes (in a less bleary vision), I might have wondered whether Marius had been found under the parapet of a bridge. Still, maybe young sobersides would grow up and fall in love with a tinker's by-blow, then run off to be a harp player.

I doubted it. Full of calm assurance, Marius saw the pitfalls of eccentricity and had simply turned his back on them. Sad really. The mind he spoke of with such respect deserved a more colourful fate.

We had reached the laundry. 'I'm going up, Marius. If you've something to tell me, this is the moment.'

'Tertulla's disappeared again.'

'Why fret? It happens all the time. Anyway, your grandma's taken her in hand.'

'It's true. This time I'll get the blame for it.'

'Nobody could possibly blame you for Tertulla, Marius. She's your cousin, not your sister, and she's beyond help. You're not responsible.' I wondered if he knew he had been supposed to be named Marcus, after me. When his father was sent to register his birth, Famia had dropped into several wine bars on the way to the Censor's Office, then he had misread the note Maia had sent him out with. This would have been bad enough once, but he had repeated his triumph when he registered his second son as Ancus instead of Aulus. When Maia gave birth to her daughters she dragged herself to the Censor's with him and made sure things were done right.

'Uncle Marcus, I think I'd better tell you what has happened.' The sight of a child confiding his problems was too much. Marius must have been relying on this, the cunning brat.

I sighed. 'You ought to be at home having your dinner.' 

'I'm frightened to go.'

He didn't look very frightened, but it was unlike him to say it. 'Walk upstairs with me then.'

'Tertulla hasn't run away. She's too scared of Grandma. Grandma put me in charge of seeing her to school. It was really annoying. And then I was supposed to march her to lunch at her mother's house - '

'So she did go to school in the morning?'

'No, of course not!' scoffed Marius impatiently, scuttling after me around the third bend. 'She skipped off as soon as we arrived, but she promised to meet us all outside after lessons.'

'So what happened?'

'She never showed up. I think something bad has happened. I need you, Uncle Marcus. We'll have to conduct a search.'

'Tertulla's a minx and she's forgotten the time. She'll turn up.'

Marius shook his head. He had the same curls as me and Pa, yet somehow managed to make his look neat. I ought to ask him for hairdressing tips sometime. 'Look, Uncle, I have an interest in this problem since I shall be blamed for losing her. If you agree to search, I'll help you.'

'I don't agree!' I told him cheerfully. We had reached the apartment; I led him indoors. 'But I don't agree with a future rhetoric teacher being made a scapegoat for one of Galla's rascals either. Now here's Helena -'

'Oh good!' exclaimed Marius, with no attempt to disguise his relief. 'Somebody who will know what we should do!'

Helena came in from the balcony. She was carrying the skip baby. I grinned approvingly, but it was my nephew who risked his neck. Maia must have been talking at home about our own impending family because as soon as Marius saw the baby he shrieked, 'Oh goodness, Helena! Has Uncle Marcus brought you one in advance to practise on?'

She was not pleased.

XXXIII

I did not wait for Petro's promised agent to come with me to see the Balbinus relatives. My domestic cares were so pressing it seemed necessary to leave home as soon as I had swallowed lunch. I did take a witness, however.

'I miss you, Marcus,' Helena had complained.

This was an aspect of living together that had always worried me. Born into a class where the women spent their days surrounded by scores of slaves and visited by flocks of friends, Helena was bound to feel isolated. Senators' daughters were offered no other respectable daytime occupation than taking. mint tea together, and though many preferred to forget being respectable and hung around gladiators, Helena was not that type. Living with me in a sixth-floor apartment must be frightening - especially when she often woke up to find I had rushed out without leaving a note of my plans. Some girls in this position might get too friendly with the janitor. Luckily Smaractus had never provided one. But if I wanted to keep her, I would have to produce some other option.

'I miss you too.' It sounded glib.

'Oh yes? And that's why you have deigned to come home?'

"That, and I have to wait to be supplied with a witness.' A thought struck me. 'You could take notes and listen as well as some silly coot from the vigiles.' She looked surprised. 'Wear a plain dress and no necklaces. Bring a stylus, and don't interrupt. I hate a secretary who talks smart.'

So Helena came with me. She was not one for staying at home with the domestic cares either.

It suited me to start investigating without one of Petro's minders lurking at my elbow, breathing my air, then reporting everything I did straight back to him. It certainly suited me to be out with my lass - more like leisure than work.

We sent Marius home to Maia's, telling hits to confess his loss of Tertulla and to promise that if the girl was still missing this evening Helena and I would organise a search from Fountain Court. Marius looked happier about owning up. He knew nobody would thump him once I was involved; they  would rather wait for a chance of thumping me. We made him take the skip baby to his mother's for the afternoon. It was leading a busy life. Helena had found a wet nurse to feed it sometimes, while in between it went to Ma's house to be weaned on the gluey polenta that had produced my sisters, me and numerous sturdy grandchildren.

'Your mother agrees with me; there's something odd about the baby,' Helena said.

'You'd seem odd if you found yourself abandoned in a rubbish skip on the Aventine. Incidentally, I met Justinus this morning. He's in love with an actress, but I'll try to cure him of it. We are invited to a birthday dinner with your parents. I'm to have the extreme pleasure of being introduced to Aelianus.'

'Oh no!' cried Helena. 'I wanted my birthday to be fun!'

I always enjoyed discovering that relationships in patrician homes were as terrible as those in my own low family.

'There will be fun,' I promised. 'Watching your mother trying to be polite to me while your father hankers to nip off and hide in his library, your friendly brother nags me to teach him flirting with floosies, and your nasty brother flicks sauce in my eye should provide hours of jollity.'

'You go,' Helena urged despondently. 'I think I'll stay at home.'

Flaccida, the Balbinus wife, lived in a gorgeous gem of town architecture just south of the Circus Maximus, at the Temple of Ceres end. It was a rare residential block in the Eleventh district - well placed for the crime empire Balbinus had run along the Tiber waterfront. It lay in the lee of the Aventine but on a piece of land that was patrolled, along with the racecourse itself, not by Petro's cohort but by the Sixth.

At least, Flaccida was living there this week. A huge notice advertised that the spread was for sale; confiscated straight after the trial verdict. Flaccida would be moving house soon.

Indoors, everything echoed. The place was virtually empty, and it was not done for stylish effect. Only the fixed assets remained to show the opulent lifestyle master criminals enjoy: ravishing yardages of mosaic floor, endless perspectives in top-quality wall painting, meticulously plastered ceilings, fascinating shell grottoes that housed well- maintained fountains. Even the birdbaths were gilded.

'Nice place!' I remarked, though for me the columns were too massive and the artwork too frenetic.

'It was nicer when it was full.'

Flaccida was a short, thin woman, a blonde of sorts, about forty-five. From twenty strides away she would have looked fabulous. At six feet she showed signs of a troubled past. She wore a gown in material so fine its threads were tearing under the weight of its jewelled fastenings. Her face and hair were a triumph of cosmetic attention. But her eyes were restless and suspicious. Her mouth set in a hard, straight line. Her hands seemed too big for her aims. Size mattered here. On both wrists she wore bangles that were trying too hard to tell people how much they cost, and on her fingers two full rows of high-budget rings.

Naturally Flaccida was giving us the eyeball. I reckoned we would pass: whereas Helena had dressed down for the occasion, I had dressed up. Smartness always helps in gaining access to the houses of the wealthy. Anyone with a clean face is acceptable to thugs.

I wore my best white tunic, newly laundered, and even a toga, which I knew how to handle with an air. A recent shave and a faint splash of pomade announced status, a bold lie. A money purse clinked on my belt and I was flaunting my great-uncle's massive obsidian finger ring. Helena had followed me quietly. She was also in white, a straight gown with sewn sleeves and a plain woollen belt. She usually fixed her hair vety simply, and she wore no jewels today apart from one insignificant silver ring that she never took off. Some might imagine her a slave. I tried to view her as a highly trained freedwoman inherited from an aunt. Helena herself seemed quite at ease, without being explained away.

I found a bland smile. 'I am working closely with Marcus Rubella, the tribune of the Fourth Cohort of vigiles.'

'So you're in the Prefect's Office?' Flaccida's voice had a smoky rasp that came from a misspent life in ill-lit places.

'Not really. I normally represent a more senior outfit...' Leaving it vague was easy. Half the time I didn't know who I was working for myself. 'I have some news to break, and I need to ask some questions.'

She pinched her mouth, but did gesture me impatiently to a seat. Her movements lacked grace. She dumped herself on a couch while I took its partner. They were handsome pieces in silver, with winged griffin armrests and sinuous backs, but they looked slightly too small for the room. We had found Flaccida in one more-or-less furnished salon, though as I settled in I noticed bare curtain rods. Shadowed lines on the wall showed where display shelves had been removed. Dark marks on the ceiling spoke of candelabra, though there were none now.

Helena had perched on the other end of my couch, with a note tablet on her knees. 'My assistant may take a few notes,' I informed Flaccida, who replied with a gesture of indifference. Interesting that she accepted Helena's presence so readily.

'What's this about?'

'Your husband, partly.'

'My husband is abroad.'

'Yes, I met him briefly as he was leaving. So how will you manage? I notice the house is up for sale.'

'I shall be living with my daughter and son-in-law.' Her tone was dry enough to elicit any sympathy we could find for her. She was still too young for that option. She was neither a widow nor divorced. Moving in with the youngsters was not going to work. Something about her manner suggested she would not even try to co-operate.

'Your daughter must be a great comfort,' I said. Without meeting her, I felt sorry for the girl.

'Get on with what you came for,' Flaccida snapped. 'What's the news you mentioned? Has somebody died?' Watching for any reaction, I told her it was Nonnius Albius. 'That traitor!' She said it fairly quietly. I happened to catch Helena's eye, and reckoned she thought that Flaccida had already known.

'I suppose you're glad to hear it?'

'Correct.' She was still speaking in a flat tone. 'He ruined my life.'

I decided not to waste my breath mentioning all the people whose lives had been ruined by the crime empire her husband had run. 'Nonnius was murdered, Flaccida. Do you know anything about it?'

'Only that I'd give whoever did it a laurel wreath.'

'He was tortured first. It was very unpleasant. I could tell you the details.'

'Oh I'd like that' She spoke with a disturbing mixture of contempt and enjoyment. I found myself wondering whether Flaccida would herself be capable of ramming a wine bowl on a man's head and having the rest of him mutilated while he choked. She sat very still, scrutinising me through half-closed eyes. It was easy to imagine her presiding over horror.

Various pale maids were sitting in on the interview. A rapid scan indicated that most were undernourished, several had bruised arms, and one bore the remnants of a black eye. Flaccida's immaculate coiffure had been achieved with a level of violence that would not disgrace a gladiators' training school.

'Were you aware what kind of business your husband ran?' 

'What I know is my affair.'

I kept trying. 'Have you seen any of the men who used to work with him recently? The Miller? Little Icarus? Julius Caesar, and that lot?'

'No. I never mixed with the work force.'

'Is it true they are all out of Rome?'

'So I heard. Driven out by the vigiles.'

'So you cannot say if any of them were behind the recent theft from the Emporium?'

'Oh, was there a theft?' cooed Flaccida, this time soarcely concealing her prior knowledge. The raid had certainly not been announced in the Daily Gazette as a national triumph, but word had galloped around the bathhouse circuit the same day. Flaccida was just giving us the routine false innocence of a regular villain.

'A big one. Someone who wants to be very big must have organised it.' Flaccida herself, for instance. If she had done it, though, she knew better than to signal the fact. I wondered how she would react to the notion of a female rival. 'Do you know Lalage?'

'Lalage?

'Keeps the brothel called Plato's Academy.' Helena, who had not previously heard the popular name for the Bower of Venus, stifled a giggle. 'She's a business contact of your husband's.'

'Oh yes. I think I've met her.' They were probably best friends, but Flaccida would never admit it under official questioning. She would lie, even if there was no reason to do so. Lying was her way of life.

'Do you think Lalage might be trying to take over where your husband was forced to leave off?'

'How should I know? You'd better ask her.'

'Oh I've done that. She knows how to lie as well as you.' I changed tack wearily: 'Let's start again. Nonnius Albius, your husband's one-time associate, turned him in. It could be suggested that now your husband has left the Empire, you may be acting as his agent of revenge against Nonnius.'

This charge, though unproven, could go straight into the mouth of a prosecutor in a court of law. Flaccida started fighting back seriously. 'You have no right to make such suggestions to an unsupported woman.' Legally this was true. A woman had to have a male representative to speak for her in public. The answer was well rehearsed too. Not many women I knew would raise that objection. But not many of my associates needed to shelter behind the law.

'Quite right. I apologise.'

'Shall I strike the question from the record?' Helena interrupted demurely.

'I shouldn't think it matters, since the lady has not answered it.'

Helena smiled gently at my anger. She suggested, in a way that sounded straightforward but was actually sceptical, 'Perhaps Flaccida has a guardian acting for her now her husband is away?'

'I have a guardian and a battery of barristers, and if you want to ask questions about the business,' barked Flaccida, using the word 'business' as if the family were engaged merely in carving cameos or in scallop fishing, 'you can go through the proper procedures.'

'Make an appointment?' I grinned, but my tone was bitter. 'Send a prior written list of queries to some pompous toga who charges me five hundred just to tell me, you cannot comment? Expect a writ for slander if I mention this discussion in public? Find myself barred from the Basilica Julia on some frivolous charge? Discover no one in the Forum wants to talk to me? Lose my clothes every time I go to the bath, find my mother's rent has been put up threefold, receive a summons from the army board of deserters, have mule dung shovelled into my doorway?'

'You've done this before,' smiled Flaccida. She was quite blatant.

'Oh I know how intimidation by the powerful works.'

'Lucky for you, you didn't tell me what your name is!'

'The name's Falco.' I could have used an alias. I refused to be dragged down to the level of fear these operators used. If they wanted to humiliate me, they would have to find me first. My normal clients were sadder and seedier-, I was not well known amongst major criminals.

'And who's your friend?' This Flaccida was nasty work. It was a threat against Helena - and not a subtle one. 'No one you should tangle with,' I answered coolly. 

'Unusual to see an official with a female scribe!' 

'She's an unusual scribe.'

'I assume you sleep with her?'

'So long as it doesn't affect her handwriting... I rose. 'I'm not intending to bother you further. I don't like wasting effort.'

'I don't like you,' Flaccida told me frankly. 'Don't harass me again!'

I said to Helena, 'Make a note that the wife of Balbinus Pius refused to answer routine questions, then described polite enquiry by a civil investigator as "harassment".' 

'Get out!' sneered the more-or-less blonde.

In some circles the women are more fearsome than the men.