Time to Depart (27 page)

LIII

There was no chance that Petronius would welcome me with almond cakes if I came with my new information. Hearing that his ploy had been seen through by Nonnius would only make him flare up again. What was the point of harassing him? He knew Balbinus was back; he could work out for himself his own personal danger. All I had learned for certain was some unpleasant background relating to the court case. Lalage had implied she had some mysterious hold over Balbinus, but it could be bluff. If not, it was still too nebulous to be useful.

Nonetheless I felt I had gained a better grip on the situation. The main thing now was to find Balbinus Pius. I decided to risk my neck and tackle Flaccida. Too late: when I reached her house at the other end of the Circus, the vigiles were already there. I must have spent longer in the brothel than I realised. (Not the first man to be in that predicament.) The funeral of Linus was over now. Petronius had obviously come straight from it, with barely time for the ritual purification, in order to lead a search party at the Balbinus house.

Flaccida was standing white-faced and rigid in the street, surrounded by the few slaves she had been left for personal use. No one had been arrested, but members of the foot patrol were strategically placed so that interested passers-by (of whom there were many) were being held back away from her. Despite precautions, Flaccida must have managed to send word to her daughter because while I was there Milvia came scuttling up looking flustered. She was promptly corralled with her mother. Her house would be the next target.

I also reckoned Balbinus would not be found in either mansion. Petronius presumably knew that too, for I could see him leaning casually in a portico with his arms folded. When he looked over and spotted me, I made sure I was sitting against a wall chewing my thumb in a similarly relaxed pose. I heard him give an order to have the street cleared of gawkers, so I left of my own accord.

It would be easy to let this situation deteriorate until it became even more personal. Searching for Balbinus was already feeling like some grim competition between Petro and me. That could be an advantage if it sharpened us up. But it was equally likely to jeopardise our hopes of capturing the criminal.

I went to see Marcus Rubella.

'There's been a development. Petronius has declared me out of bounds at the patrol house, and he refuses to communicate.'

'I was warned that having you two together would mean trouble.' That sounded as if it came from our old centurion, Stollicus.

'That's rubbish!' I retorted irritably.

Rubella was watering his inkwell and scraping the innards with a stick - the usual useless procedure for trying to get a decent mix. He possessed a fancy desk set: silver inkpot, stylus rack, sand tray, nib knife and sealing-wax lamp. It looked like a gift. Maybe somebody was fond of him. It wasn't me.

'Do you want to be taken off the enquiry, Falco?' He knew this had thrown me. 'Are you prepared to tell Titus you're ditching it?' This was a vicious man. Sympathetic staff management was not in his armoury.

'I can't afford that. I need his goodwill. I came to see you because I hoped you might be able to mediate.'

Rubella looked at me as though I was a cockroach crawling up his favourite stool. 'Mediate?'

'Sorry. Did I slip into a rare Etruscan dialect? Try arbitrate.'

'You're asking me to calm Petronius Longus down?' 

'Subtle.'

'Fly off a crag, Falco.'

'No use?'

'I value life too dearly.'

'You won't try.'

'He's your old tentmate.'

'I don't find him in a nostalgic mood, unfortunately. Well it seems I'll be acting alone.' That was what I had wanted, though not this way. I told Rubella what I had learned from Lalage; he thanked me, in his dry manner, for handing him the task of telling Petro how Nonnius Albius had played with him. 'Rubella, since Petronius won't be using my valuable talents, I'm available to take instructions directly from you.'

'I like a man who co-operates. Well now, what nugget can I find for you? Petronius is in charge of finding Balbinus.'

'I can help with that.'

'No. I don't want your paths crossing until your feud is worked out.'

'I'll keep out of his way.'

'Yes.' Rubella gave me his slow, untrustworthy smile. 'That's best.' He meant, he was making sure of it. 'As I said, Petronius is looking for the escapee. What I'd like you to take on is tracing the goods stolen flow the Saepta and the Emporium.' Before I could protest at this menial role, he added smoothly, 'Following up the raids may be another way to find a trail to Balbinus. Besides, you have connections in the fine-art world. You seem ideal for this job - much better than anyone on my own staff.'

Always a sucker for personal flattery, I heard myself agree to it. 'Do I get men to assist?'

Rubella flattened the stubs of his close haircut with one hand; it must have felt like abrading his palm with pumice stone. 'I don't see that you'll need any initially. If you are on to something, come straight to me for backup.'

I had heard that before. I knew I would be searching for the stolen goods on my own. If I found them, I would be a solitary hero timidly approaching whichever giant was hoarding them and asking if he could please hand them over and explain himself... I started planning further visits for exercise at my local gymnasium.

I was ready to leave when the tribune raised his chin more than usual. 'Do I take it that you are still pursuing the request to identify corrupt officers?'

'Certainly. I'm looking all the time.'

'That's interesting. You report to me on that, I think.'

'What are you getting at?'

'Linus was an unfortunate loss. I've been at the funeral; I noticed you didn't go to it...' I let that ride. 'I've been waiting,' said Rubella, with an insinuating sneer, 'for you to tell me that there must be a maggot in the Fourth Cohort's enquiry team.'

I managed to keep my voice quiet, though I may have flushed. 'I thought you suspected a maggot all along. I thought that was why Titus brought me in!' We clashed eye to eye. Neither achieved supremacy. The sooner I stopped working with Marcus Rubella, the happier I would be. 'Petronius Longus will be reporting on the traitor who betrayed Linus when we have discovered who it is.'

'You told him there was a traitor?'

Not even I as Petro's close friend could pretend that Petro had been aware of it. 'It seemed best for me to warn him that he needs to be careful whom he trusts, so I did discuss the subject with him last night before we parted company.'

'I suppose that's why you quarrelled?' The reason was between the two of us. Rubella glared. 'He and I have also spoken.' Relief. Petro had faced the issue. Petro had even come clean with his tribune. I wondered whether he had asked for an interview of his own accord, or whether Rubella - who was undeniably sharp in his dour way - had realised there had been an error and had insisted they discuss what had gone wrong. 'No thoughts on it?' Rubella tried.

I was not inclined to share them. 'I'm standing back. Petronius Longus wants to sort it out internally.' I knew that without having any contact with him.

'I have agreed his approach. He'll review events surrounding the failed attempt to send Balbinus into vale. Then he'll interview the entire team individually.' For a moment I experienced the odd feeling that whatever Petro or I said to Rubella would make its way to the other. It was like conversing through an intermediary to save face. Maybe the damned tribune understood men after all. Maybe he could arbitrate.

'Keep me informed,' he concluded, as if confirming it.

Then the hypocrite wished me luck (hoping I would fall flat on my face of course) and I took myself off to apply my special gifts to the world of stolen luxuries.

Rubella had given me the lists of stolen property. I had a quick glance at the endless details of six-foot-high Etruscan terracotta stands and bowls, ancient Athenian red-figure, gilt and jewellery, porphyry and ivory. Then, to deal with two commissions at once, I started with the piece I knew: Papa's glass jug.

There was one character involved in this saga whom nobody else seemed to be considering. So I pulled my cloak around my shoulders and decided to meet Florius.

I had to find him first.

LIV

My brother-in-law Famia, Maia's treasure, prided himself on being a man with contacts. It was rubbish. Famia's contacts were one-legged jockeys and liniment-sellers who drank too much. He was a vet, working for the Greens. Their pathetic choice of horse doctor may account for the fact that as a chariot team they stink.

Famia was no stranger to flagons of non-vintage grape juice himself. He had a florid face with puffy eyes. Maia fed him well and tried to keep him neat, but it was hard work. He favoured a long tunic the colour of estuary mud, over which went a filthy leather apron and a belt from which hung curious tools, some of which he had devised himself. I had never seen him use a single one of them on a sick animal.

I found him sitting on a barrel at the stables, talking to some visitors. A lame horse waited patiently. It appeared to know it stood no chance of attention this week if it had to depend on Famia. Hung on the wall behind it was an impressive selection of harness rings and roundels, blacksmiths' hammers and pliers, and hippo shoes.

'What ho, Falco! I hear you slipped up with your fancy piece?'

'If that's a coarse reference to my impending fatherhood - '

'Don't be stupid. I presume Helena will be getting rid of it.' 

'That so? I like to be kept up to date, Famia. Thanks for telling me!'

'Well, that's the impression Maia gave me anyway.' Realising he was likely to get thumped, he sniffed and backed off. Famia simply could not believe that a senator's daughter would carry an informer's child. I had long given up any attempt to hack a path through the dark undergrowth of his social prejudice. He wasn't worth trying to talk to sensibly.

The bastard had upset me. No use denying it.

It was too much to hope Famia knew Florins, but since Florins was a gambling man Famia must know someone else who did. Prising the information out of him gave me indigestion for the rest of the day. He enjoyed being difficult.

It took me most of the afternoon. A long stream of undesirable characters whom Famia had suggested I consult finally ended with a snooty ex-charioteer who kept a training stable near the Plain of Mars. His office was full of the silver crowns he had won when he himself raced, but somehow lacked the odour of real money that I associate with retired champions, most of whom are nearly millionaires. Famia had hinted darkly there was some scandal attached to him, though needless to say he then sent me in there without saying what. Maybe the fellow tried to diddle on the slave tax when he bought his drivers, and had been found out. Many a hopeful setting up a new business assumes the fiscal rules don't apply to him. Catching them out works wonders for the Treasury's income from fines.

One reason it was so difficult to trace Florius was that it turned out he supported the Whites. 'The Whites?' I was incredulous. No wonder he was elusive. Nobody in Rome supports the Whites. Even the Reds are less unpopular. A man who supported the Whites could well wish to remain invisible.

The ex-charioteer thought he might be seeing Florius Later. Naturally he viewed me with suspicion. People never entertain the thought that an informer might be tracing folk for a good reason, such as to bring them news of an unexpected legacy. I was interpreted as trouble. It was quite likely Florius would be warned of my visit and advised to avoid me. Determined to better him, I pretended to go along with it, said I'd call back in an hour, and concealed myself in a wine bar to await developments. At least I got a drink.

The racing snob went out in his cloak almost immediately. I gulped down my tipple and followed him. He met Florius at the Pantheon, obviously a regular rendezvous. I stood back, but neither was keeping watch for trouble. Shading my eyes against the glitter of the gold tiles on the domed toof, I observed them without them even once looking in my direction. They had a short chat together, fairly unexciting and perhaps even routine business, then the charioteer strolled off again. Florius sat among the forest of columns in Agrippa's confrontational portico. He appeared to be working out figures on a note tablet. I walked across the open area in front of the temple, then slid up to talk to him.

Florius was a mess. He was a shapeless lump, too heavy for his own good and unkempt with it. His baggy tunic had spots of dried fish pickle down the front. It was untidily hooked up over his belt, from which hung a fat hide purse so old its creases were black and shiny and stiffened with use. His boots had been handsome knee-highs once, but their complex thongs were mud-splashed and needed grease. His feet were badly mis-shapen with corns; the thick toenails had been hacked short, apparently with a meat knife. His brown hair looked as if it had been cuts in tufts by several barbers over several days. He wore his equestrian ring, plus a haematite seal and a couple of other heavy gold lumps. This was hardly for personal adornment; his fingernails were ferociously bitten, with ragged cuticles. His hands looked in need of a wash.

This neglected bundle received my greeting without alarm. He put away his notes, which looked like details of form. (I craned for a look, hoping they would be lists of stolen goods; nothing so obvious.) He was sharp enough in his obsession; as I had approached the temple I had seen him scribbling away with his stylus so rapidly that in minutes his little squiggly figures filled a whole waxed board. I determined not to ask him about racing. He was clearly one of those mad devotees who would bore you to death.

A gusty wind had driven a sharp rain shower over the Plain, so I suggested we take shelter. He clambered to his feet and we strolled inside the temple, passing the statues of Augustus and Agrippa in the vestibule. Though I rarely entered the Pantheon, it always had a calming effect on me. The gods looked out peacefully from their niches in the lower drum while clouds covered the open circle in the roof.

'Wonderful building,' I commented. I liked to reassure my subjects with some casual chat - a few pleasantries about the beauty of concrete before suggesting that they had better talk or I'd tear their liver out 'They say it's the first piece of architecture that was designed from the inside outwards instead of the other way. Don't you think the proportions are perfect? The height of the dome is exactly the same as its diameter.' Florius took no notice. That did not surprise me. The Pantheon would have needed four legs and a bad-tempered, pockmarked Cappadocian rider before Florius raised a flicker of interest. 'Well! You're a hard man to catch up with, I must say!' He looked nervous. 'Your friend seemed to be protecting you. Have you been bothered by any unwelcome visitors?'

Florius cleared his throat 'What do you want?' He had one of those light, overcheerful voices that always sound unreliable.

'I'm Didius Falco. A special investigator working on your father-in-law's case.'

He exclaimed in considerable anguish, 'Oh no!'

'Sorry, does this bother you?'

'I don't want anything to do with it'

I took a chance. 'I sympathise. When you discovered what kind of family had tricked you into marriage, you must have felt really trapped.' He said nothing, but made no protest, 'I've come to you because I realise you're different.'

'I don't know anything about what my father-in-law does.'

'Have you seen him?' I asked pleasantly.

'Oh don't get me into this!' he pleaded.

'You have? How long ago was that?'

'Five or six days ago.' Interesting. It was only a week since we put the big rissole aboard the Aphrodite at Ostia. Florins had spoken without intending to co-operate, but now he decided to ditch Balbinus anyway. 'I'm not supposed to tell anyone.'

'Of course not. It's very unfair of him to put pressure on you this way.'

'Oh I wish he'd just go away.'

'I hope he will do soon. We're working on it hourly.'

'Oh?' Florius seemed puzzled. 'I must have misunderstood. I thought you said you were a special investigator. But you're with the vigiles?'

'Can it be that you don't think the vigiles are pursuing matters energetically?'

'My father-in-law reckons they do what he likes,' he answered flatly.

That was bad news for Rome. I was supposed to be looking into this. Rubella would be overjoyed. I broached the issue carefully: 'Look. This is just between us.' He looked grateful for the confidence. A simple soul. 'The vigiles are themselves the subject of a probe at the moment. Obviously I cannot be too specific, but my role includes reviewing them... Perhaps you can help.'

'I doubt it!' The great booby just wanted to hide his head in a sack.

'I don't suppose Balbinus mentioned names?'

'No.'

Did he say anything about his escape from the ship?' 

'The ship he was supposed to leave on? No.'

'Can you tell me what he wanted with you?'

'He only wanted me to tell him how Milvia was. He's very fond of her. Actually, he wanted me to tell her he was home again, but I refused.'

'If he's so close to her, why didn't he come to your house?' 'He was afraid people might be watching it.'

'Does Milvia know he's here in Rome?'

'No. I don't want her to know. She's my wife, and I want to keep her out of all this. He doesn't understand.'

'Oh he wouldn't, Florius. He's been a villain all his life. His wife is as bad. They wanted Milvia to have a respectable place in society, but that doesn't mean they really think there is anything wrong with their own way of life.'

'Well it's made them rich enough!' snapped Florius. - 

'Oh quite. Do you know where I can find Balbinus?' 

'No. He just appeared one day. I used to spend time in the Portico of Octavia; he found me there. So now I come here just to get away from him.'

'I'm very glad to hear your attitude.' There was no harm in putting pressure of our own on him. 'It's wise, Florius. I expect you realise your position could be awkward. There are people who keep saying you may work with Balbinus in some kind of partnership.'

'That's nonsense!' His fists were clenched. I sympathised. Innocence can be hard to prove. 'I answered all their questions before the trial happened. They assured me there would be no more trouble.'

'Of course... Going back to Balbinus being here now, is there a system set up for you to contact him?'

'No.' Florius was exasperated. 'I don't want to contact him; I want to forget he exists! I told him not to bother me again.'

'All right. Calm down. Let me ask you something different. Was it Balbinus who gave you the glass water jug, the one all the fuss has been about?'

'Yes.'

'He approves of you then?'

'No, he thinks I'm nothing. It was a present for Milvia.' 

'Did you tell her that?'

'No. I took the damned thing home, then I had to be vague about it. I don't want her to know he's here. I don't want him to give her gifts paid for from his illegal activities.'

'Pardon me, but you and Milvia seem to have a strange relationship. I've been trying to meet you at your house, but you're never there. You hate your wife's family, and you seem to have little to do with her, yet you stay married. Is this for purely financial reasons? I thought you had money of your own?'

'I do.'

'Are your gambling debts exorbitant?'

'Certainly not. I've been very successful.' He might support the Whites, but clearly he did not bet on them - unless he bet on them losing. But no one would give him long odds. 'I'm just about to buy a training stable of my own.'

I whistled jealously. 'So what's with Milvia?'

He shrugged. Complete disinterest. Amazing.

I gave him a stern look. 'Take my advice, young man!' He was about my own age, but I was streets ahead of him in experience. 'Either get a divorce, or pay some attention to your wife. Be businesslike. A racing trainer wants to impress the punters. You can't afford to have whiffs of scandal sullying your name. People you depend on will just laugh at you.'

Forgetting that people would know he had a father-in-law who was a condemned extortionist and murderer, Florius fell for the domestic threat. 'Milvia wouldn't-'

'She's a woman; of course she would. She's a pretty girl who's very lonely. She's just waiting for a handsome piece of trouble to walk in and smile at her.'

'Who are you talking about?' It would have been tough talk, had he not been less worked up than a scallop basking open on a sandbank. Pardon me; scallops lead lives of vivacious incident compared with Florius.

'It's hypothetical.' I was terse. 'Let's stick with your father-in-law. It sounds to me as if you have a very strong interest in helping the officials discover him. To start with, you can assist me. I was enquiring into the glassware. It is stolen property - ' Flosius groaned. He was a man in a nightmare. Everything he heard about the Balbinus family - including my instructions about his wife - made him more anxious. 'I don't suppose Balbinus made up a story about where he got it from?'

'He didn't have to make it up,' said Florius, sounding surprised. 'I was with him at the time.'

'How come?'

'He kept insisting he wanted to send a present to my wife. He made me go with him to buy something.'

Taking a hostile witness to a receiver's lockup sounded strangely careless for a king of crime. I was amazed. 'Balbinus bought his gift? Where from?'

'A place in the Saepta Julia.'

It was still raining, but the Saepta lies right alongside the Pantheon. I dragged Florius across the street and into the covered market I made him show me the booth where the jug had been purchased. Almost as soon as we reached it, the eager proprietor hurried out to greet us, clearly hoping his previous customer had come back for more. When I stepped into view, the atmosphere cooled rapidly.

I told Florius to go. He already had a jaded view of life. I didn't want him more upset. And I did not want any strangers present when I spoke my mind about the glass to its slimy, seditious retailer. All our efforts to follow up the Syrian water jug had been a waste of time. It had no bearing on the Balbinus case. The 'stolen' glass had never been lost. All I was pursuing here was a sleazy compensation fraud - one to which I was myself inextricably linked.