The Ides of April fam-1 Read online

  "No, thanks. Don't interfere with your darling tribune's technique, Morellus. So much easier for him to frighten me silly if I am trapped alone among strange men!"

  Morellus, who had always been a baby about torture, looked relieved to miss the pain and terror, though he claimed he would wait outside only because the tribune had a rather small office. He promised to walk me home afterwards, and I replied cruelly, he was assuming I could still walk. He winced. I took a deep breath. He knocked. I marched in.

  Inside the sparsely furnished office in fact there was sufficient space for four other men as well as Scaurus. I managed not to let the number of interrogators worry me. As soon as I stepped into the room, I felt disconcerted. I was staring at a low serving table they had probably borrowed from a tavern, upon which were placed several small bowls overflowing with olives and fancy pastries.

  I managed not to show a smile. Once I grasped what these were for, I saw that Cassius Scaurus and his brutes were about to be thoroughly underhand. Their intimidation tactics took the form of finger-snacks.

  They placed me on a folding stool, the ceremonial X-shaped kind used by important officials, with a cushion (it was rather lumpy but I was astonished to get it), then asked solicitously if I was comfortable there. The tribune must have given me his own stool. What an honour. I wondered if I could manage to wee on it with terror.

  Before beginning, we had a short, awkward chat about the weather that day. So far, the attempt to intimidate me worked, because I hate that kind of small-talk.

  The five men assembled in a circle, with Scaurus directly opposite me, so he could lead the soft bargaining. They were all standing up. I did not find that menacing, because there were simply no other seats in the office and, anyway, they all looked sheepish.

  Cassius Scaurus had a big nose, straggles of grey hair and the self-satisfaction of a man who is playing out his time at public expense in a dead-end job. He had beaten the system. He must have been a centurion in the legions, but that didn't mean he was sharp, merely sly at manoeuvring. Thrown out by the army proper on "age" grounds, he had wangled himself to Rome, but the man would never make it past the vigiles into the more coveted Urban Cohorts or Praetorians. That was regrettable, because in the vigiles he could probably do more damage to the general public.

  "So, you are Flavia Albia, Falco's daughter. I have heard a lot about you." I decided not to show any encouragement. Obviously he was wondering if he dared ask, "Any chance you'll get your titties out?" They are all the same, right down to the ghastly vocabulary. He only stopped himself because all the rest would have wanted a grope too. He was too mean to let his men have a go. "So you work in the community, as an informer? That's an unusual occupation for a woman. What are your interesting investigations at the moment, Flavia?"

  No one I like ever calls me Flavia. I let him do it, without comment. He thought he was being intimate, not seeing how my hackles rose.

  "Oh you know, sir…" I would never tell him what cases I really had. "One can always get by. Approach any bathhouse and offer to catch the peeper who keeps squinting through a hole he's made into the women's changing room. There is bound to be one. I help out."

  "Fascinating!" His vigiles ought to apprehend the peepers, and he knew it. As an excuse why they didn't, he would claim shortage of manpower, but the real problem was total lack of interest in stopping the problem. Half his men would themselves squint through the hole at the women undressing, given the chance. I bet he would too. "Can we get you anything, Flavia? Something to drink, perhaps?"

  "No, thanks. You don't want to waste time sending out a boy for peppermint teas all round-it's such a hassle working out how many with honey, how many without. And there's always one awkward customer who wants borage instead…"

  Determined to be a gracious host, Scaurus gestured eagerly to the almond cakes. I made no move. My taste is savoury. Scaurus, who must have the usual male sweet tooth, was desperately trying not to slaver.

  He could no longer resist the bounty spread so close, and awkwardly pulled a comport nearer. He snatched his hand back like a boy who heard his mother coming. He resisted some more, but then reached again and began munching. The other men watched longingly while their superior tucked in. I gave them a pitying smile as I wondered which had been sent out with coins from the kitty to buy the goodies. Somebody had passed off some extremely stale-looking custards on the errand boy. You know how after three days on the platter, they shrivel and the skin goes leathery.

  "Very unusual-" Scaurus was gobbling too fast. He nearly choked on his cake and had to pause to sort himself out. He had crumbs all round his mouth. The others looked anxious. They were trained to revive people from smoke inhalation but, unless they were fathers of small children, might have little expertise in choking. When the tribune stopped coughing, he carried on wheezily, "-having someone like you come in to visit us."

  "I imagine so," I answered gravely. "Successful and admired in the community. A nicely brought up equestrian's daughter and senators' niece." I would never normally have used such pressure, but felt inspired by my conversation with Andronicus about how my family's status had impressed the aedile. I gazed at Scaurus mildly: "Instead of the usual back-of-the-arena whores, poor girls, all ready to open their hairy legs so your troops will let them leave with only a black eye and a big fine."

  All five men looked embarrassed. I heard one or two intakes of breath. It was nerves, rather than regret.

  I gave Cassius Scaurus a longer, even more direct stare. "This is fun, but shall we be straight? I know why you have brought me in. A decision has been taken, involving people who consider themselves important, that you-unfortunate man-should be given the task of deterring me from something I was doing. First, you are supposed to deny that anything odd is going on in Rome. Then you will plead with me, will I please stop taking an interest in this hypothetical crime that nobody will admit is happening?"

  The tribune had stopped eating. "Flavia, you are a very astute woman!"

  He had changed his tone, not much, just slightly. I did feel a shiver slide down my spine inside my tunic. Scaurus knew how to seed a compliment with just enough threat. We both knew he had reached his rank through the normal application of bribery mixed with brutality. Vigiles officers were often poor quality, but he was by no means the lowest grade; he packed enough power to frighten me.

  "I was very well taught," I said simply.

  That was enough reminder of where my expertise came from. But I stood no real chance of blackmailing this man with my family connections. Under Domitian, both Father and my uncles were keeping their heads down. My parents regularly spent long periods out of Rome. Scaurus probably knew all that.

  We reached the crux of the interview. Scaurus writhed, as he attempted to put into words some delicate concept. "Suppose," he began carefully after a while. "Just suppose there had been one or two similar episodes."

  "'Episodes.'" I savoured the word, as if impressed by his subtle vocabulary. "You mean, the strange rash of dead people?"

  "I do not want to say that, Flavia."

  "I know you don't, Cassius, my friend. That is why I am helpfully saying the words for you. I can spell out the unmentionable because I am not bound by your official code of confidentiality-though don't panic; I am always discreet."

  The tribune looked as relieved as he was also torn. "I'll be perfectly honest with you, Flavia-" I doubted that! "There may have been one or two odd events that are causing concern. My men are on it, working all hours. We expect to contain the situation very soon. Until that happens, there will be no public announcement. That is absolutely normal procedure," he insisted.

  "Absolutely," I concurred.

  It made him anxious that I seemed to be compliant. I could see he felt he could not trust a young woman who sweetly agreed with him. He may have had deceitful girlfriends who robbed him blind, though I did not suppose there had ever been many. "The people at a high level who understand how to manage these things
have said we must do nothing at this stage that could inflame the situation."

  "Until you know what you are dealing with," I spelled out, as if we were cronies. He liked me knowing this standard jargon. "My family has always worked closely with the government. Cassius Scaurus, why don't you let me help you, by way of my enquiries?"

  "Now then! You are not to be involved in this, Flavia!" The tribune panicked. My disingenuous offer scared him. He had been told to get rid of me, but here I was, smiling and moving in closer. "We have got to keep it professional. The powers above do not want any wild rumours that could shake public confidence."

  "I would never encourage rumours."

  "Oh we know that!" exclaimed Scaurus. All the rest moved about and shook their heads, keen to demonstrate to me that I was famous for being diplomatic and public-spirited.

  I sighed. "You have been very frank, Tribune, whilst also being absolutely as discreet as your superiors could require. I appreciate all this."

  "We can rely on you?"

  "Of course you can." I even relented and took one of the neglected olives daintily between two fingers, shaking off the brine before eating it so none would drip onto the far-from-clean serving table. One of the braver men grabbed a cake while I was doing it. The rest were keyed up, ready to fall on the sweetmeats as soon as they could.

  "Any time," swore Scaurus earnestly. "Any time the vigiles can help you with your work, Flavia Albia, you only have to come and ask. Titus Morellus-you know Morellus, don't you-"

  "I do, I do. Wonderful fellow. Good family man, hugely experienced officer."

  "Morellus has instructions to help you all you want."

  "That is so good to know, Scaurus." If he wanted to believe he was winning me over, I could let him have his delusions. "But not on this?" I gurgled playfully, as if we were all pals now, sharing a joke.

  "But not on this!" pleaded the tribune, his eyes dark with distress in case he had failed to coerce me as he had been ordered.

  "Rely on me." I could be kind. I could tell lies too.

  Rising to my feet, I shook hands very formally with each of them, then I made my escape. Behind me I heard the gasps of men who had been placed in an unfamiliar position that had made them very nervous, finally relieving their tension by snatching the almond cakes.

  XVIII

  When I emerged into the courtyard with its untidy piles of smoky rope mats, Morellus was talking and laughing with some of the vigiles. Flitting from pillar to pillar, I managed to tiptoe down a colonnade without him or any other men noticing, and started back to the other side of the Aventine by myself. He caught me up, unfortunately.

  "Holy hermaphrodites, Morellus! That man you work for is dog-shit. Still, I am glad to report he told me I should liaise with you. We are to share information-and to start off nicely, you are going to tell me everything I need to hear about these unexplained killings."

  "Did Scaurus say that?" asked the enquirer warily.

  "Of course. You don't think I would work a flanker on you- especially over something this important? Just when Scaurus has impressed on me the need to do things right?"

  "I suppose so… not that I have been told much."

  I took pity and seeded him with starter-facts: "Let's begin with, there seems to be an outbreak of strange, unexplained deaths. People arrive home from some perfectly ordinary local expedition, but they feel odd, have a lie down, then shortly afterwards are found dead. No explanation, and no marks on them."

  Morellus nodded. We walked on.

  "Are all the victims women, Morellus, and all middle-aged or elderly?"

  "I don't know. That would be peculiar. Normally, the trend is for us to be chasing killers of young girls. The perps do it for…" Morellus paused awkwardly.

  "Sexual excitement." I was brisk with him. The man was a vigiles investigator. He must know what serial killers did. "Sad bastards spewing their seed on corpses, who can't answer them back. Or, if these perverts can actually manage to operate their pricks, actual sex."

  "Rape," he agreed, boot-faced. "Whether before or after death."

  "Nobody raped Salvidia or Celendina. As far as we know, there was no attempt to so much as get their attention. No robbery occurred. No assault at all, in fact. . And if nobody realises there has been a murder, there can't be any excitement for the killer in waiting for the news to get out. No, Morellus, it won't do."

  "It's a real puzzle, Albia."

  "Is he merely thrilled by the fact he gets away with it?"

  "He could be the type who enjoys thinking he is so clever, he completely fools the authorities."

  "No anonymous notes thrown through the gates saying, 'I've done it again, you idiots!'"

  "Oh plenty of those!" Morellus grinned. "All from Nonnius, about him stealing little girls' loincloths off washing lines."

  "Are these deaths just happening here?" I asked, staying serious. "In our district? Or on a wider scale?"

  "All across Rome," Morellus admitted. "If it's real."

  "So what is being done to find out?"

  "Hard to say. Where can we start? It seems to be completely random. Not just an invisible killer, but invisible deaths too. How are we to keep decent records, if nobody notices trouble and makes a complaint?"

  "No, that is very inconsiderate of the public! Is anybody keeping records? What are the figures?"

  "I've just been told to start." He sounded troubled by the instruction, and I didn't blame him. It would be tedious, probably pointless work.

  "How will you go about it?"

  "Check with funeral directors." He indicated a tablet stuck in his belt. "Scaurus presented me with a dirty great list."

  "Oh," I said. I wish I was ashamed of my tactics when I went on innocently: "That must be the list Cassius Scaurus mentioned when he was burbling about cooperation-hand it here for a moment, and then I'll know which ones you are meant to be covering."

  He handed it over. The man was so malleable. His wife must be having the time of her life. I bet she owned more snake rings and triple pearl earrings than any other woman on the Aventine, and when she wanted him to drive her bad-tempered mother to the country for a holiday, he just did it.

  There were too many names and addresses to memorise, so I told Morellus the easiest procedure would be if I took the tablet home with me, made a fair copy then sent back his original. You guessed. The dumbo fell for it.

  I did not bother writing out the tablet, but used it neat. I spent the rest of that day going round the funeral directors, to get at them ahead of the vigiles.

  By dinnertime, my clothes reeked of myrrh and funeral cake but otherwise I had little to show. I talked to them all, pretending I had been hired to assist because the vigiles were overworked and also needed to disguise these enquiries by using a civilian. Calling myself an undercover consultant, I quoted Cassius Scaurus on the need to maintain public confidence. "He means, prevent panic and riots."

  Everyone wants to avoid that. Funeral directors hate behaviour that interferes with their processions through the streets. The only riots they like are glorious ones that end with the Urban Cohorts rushing in to calm things down by beating people up, and doing it so hard they produce massed corpses. Even in Domitian's Rome such riots were rare.

  The undertakers all swore it was impossible to identify for certain any victims of the random killer. However, all agreed there were increasing rumours. Those in the trade generally believed that people were dying of some undetectable malady, most times without even suspecting that something odd had happened to them. Some did wonder if foul play might be involved.

  Undetectable maladies meant magic or poison in Rome. Both, possibly. I refused to believe in magic, but I might be dealing with people who did. I knew that according to vigiles lore, poison invariably meant any killer must be a woman, though I did not suggest that to anyone I spoke to. Male enquiry agents would seize on the idea, but I was cautious. There was no evidence. I prefer to make deductions based on material fact, not b
end the facts to fit some pre-formed forensic theory. Especially when rather conservative paramilitary men had first devised the theory.

  I ended up with just two likely-sounding cases. One was a lad, the other some rich woman's maid. Both died in March. I obtained addresses. It was really too late to turn up and ask questions, but I tried the mansion anyway.

  A door porter who thought his job called for awkwardness refused me admittance. I accepted it quietly, knowing the best tactic was to turn up here again in daylight, when the staff would have changed. If I insisted now on making a fuss, this intransigent swine would mention my visit to his relief when they swapped places; if I held back, I stood more chance of charming my way past the relief slave tomorrow.

  I took back the tablet to Morellus, who had gone off duty anyway. I respect "liaison." Considerately, I drew stars beside the undertakers who had been helpful.

  I went home, hoping perhaps the archivist would visit again. Rodan said he had not seen him. I decided Andronicus was being heavily supervised by Faustus, the spoilsport magistrate.

  I had picked up bread as I came home. I ate a simple supper, with the cheese Metellus Nepos gave me. I liked it. There were two kinds, both piquant and sustaining.

  As my exhaustion faded, I began mulling. Sitting quietly at home, I reviewed what I knew and whether it was worth continuing. I was now sure a random street killer was on the loose, possibly with accomplices who ranged over a wide area. News was being censored from the sensational parts of the Daily Gazette. The aedile and the tribune had put their heads together and decided to keep me out of this. Scaurus had been deputed to warn me off, with orders to keep it civil: no open threats or violence. Hence he ridiculously tried olives and cake. Could I owe that courtesy to the aedile? It failed to make me like him.

  Did these men really imagine a millefeuille and a fingerbowl of mint tea would buy my obedience? They were ridiculous. All they had done was to tell me that there really was something wrong. That instantly made me determined to plunge right in there, exploring.