Poseidon's Gold Page 14

  Bursting into the office, he threw himself on to an empty couch, expelled a huge lungful of air, wiped his nose on the cuff of a nasty-coloured tunic and gasped, ‘Jupiter, chasing you takes spunk! Don’t just sit there quaking, Uncle Marcus. Give me a drink!’

  XXVI

  Three generations of the Didius family eyed each other warily. I ignored the plea for liquor. When I sat tight Geminus fed the urchin a small one. ‘Oh Grandpa, don’t be stingy!’ Gaius lifted the wine jug with a deft hand and sloshed out more for himself. I retrieved the jug, then served myself a refill while there was still a chance.

  Our host recaptured his jug grumpily and drained out the last trickle. ‘What do you want, nipper?’

  ‘Message for Trouble there,’ he said, glaring at me.

  At home he was known as ‘Where’s Gaius?’ because no one ever knew. He roamed the city on his own in a private world of schemes and dodges: a familiar trait. He was far worse even than Festus, a complete gangster.

  Still, his father was a boatman so no one could blame him. The water-flea was a womanising dead loss; even my dim sister kicked him out of their home as often as possible. In those circumstances sophistication in the children had to be ruled out.

  I gazed at him benignly. Gaius was unimpressed, but gruffness would have achieved no more. There is nothing you can do, faced with a knowing sprat in an oversized and dirty tunic who behaves like a man twice your age. I felt like a pimply ten-year-old who had just heard where babies come from-and did not believe a word of it. ‘Speak up, Hermes! What’s the message, Gaius?’

  ‘Petronius has offered half a denarius for the first person to find you.’ I thought Petro had more sense. ‘The others are all running round like bare-arsed gibbons.’ Gaius prided himself on a charming vocabulary. ‘Not a lead among them. I used my noddle, though!’

  ‘How come?’ twinkled Father. Gaius was acting up for him. To the grandchildren, Pa was a dangerous renegade with a deep hint of mystery. He lived amongst the glittering goldsmiths’ halls of the Saepta, in a cavern full of entrancing junk; they all thought he was wonderful. The fact that my mother would go wild if she knew they came here to visit him only added to the intrigue.

  ‘Obvious! Petro said this was one place he had covered; so I ran straight here!’

  ‘Well done,’ I observed, while my father scrutinised Galla’s tricky offshoot as if he thought he might have identified a new business partner (given my own unsuitable attitude). ‘You’ve found me. Here’s a copper for bringing me the warning-now scram.’

  Gaius inspected my coin in case it was counterfeit, sneered, then shoved it into a purse at his belt that looked heavier than my own. ‘Don’t you want the message?’

  ‘I thought that was it?’

  ‘There’s more!’ he assured me. It was meant to tantalise.

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘Oh Uncle Marcus!’ Robbed of his golden moment, Gaius was reduced to a child again. His thin wail filled the office as I stood up to assume my cloak. He rallied, however. ‘It’s about that fancy coronet you’ve persuaded to pay your bills for you!’

  ‘Listen, smacker, that’s the love of my life you’re insulting. Don’t speak of Helena Justina like a charitable foundation-and don’t imply I’m hanging round the lady with a view to sequestering her cash!’ I thought my father hid a grin. ‘Helena Justina,’ I declared, in a stately tone, ‘is too shrewd to be bluffed by that sort of confidence trick.’

  ‘She’s after character!’ Pa told the boy.

  ‘So she’s taken on a loser!’ Gaius smirked back. ‘What’s the attraction, Grandpa? Is he good in bed or something?’

  I pulled his ear, harder than I had meant. ‘You’re only jealous because Helena is fond of Larius.’ Larius was his elder brother, the shy, artistic one. Gaius belched rudely at the comparison. ‘Gaius, there’s no need to give me the message. I’m well aware of it. Petronius wants to arrest me-and I don’t want to know.’

  ‘Wrong,’ Gaius informed me, though at last he quailed somewhat. He must have known I was likely to thump him when I heard the news. His voice became much smaller as he announced rather nervously: ‘Petronius Longus has arrested your Helena!’

  XXVII

  The judge lived in an impressive house of the type I could easily covet. Worse, his house might even convince me to aspire to his rank.

  It was a detached town villa just off the Vicus Longus, not too large and not too small; it had some fine rooms for impressing public visitors, but was arranged for decent privacy. Marponius never went down to Petro’s meagre guardhouse; he had felons brought here for interviews. He had a social conscience. He wanted lags like me to discover the urge to reform through seeing what could come from more legitimate types of crime. Compared to speculation and usury, mere theft and murder began to look unprofitable and quite hard work. Even being an informer seemed a dead-end job.

  I presented my person at a ponderous marble portico. The elaborate studs and shiny bronze door furniture were overdone to my mind, but as an auctioneer’s son I had seen that much of the world has unsubtle taste. Under the frippery, it was a solid hardwood door. The judge simply belonged to the group that likes to ruin good material.

  Marponius and I would never agree on decor. I was a spare-time poet with a refined nature, whose occupation called for a sensitive, humane approach. He was a dull thug from the middle rank who had made himself rich, and therefore significant, by selling scientific encyclopaedias to New Men. By New Men I mean ex-slaves and foreign immigrants; people with overflowing coffers but no education who want to appear cultured. They could afford to buy literary works by weight-and more importantly, they could fit themselves up with ranks of literate slaves to read the works aloud. In the shifting social strata of Rome there was plenty of scope for applying gloss to upstarts. So if a treatise was Greek, incomprehensible and came in twenty scrolls, Marponius had his team of scribes copy it out. He used best-quality papyrus, black gall ink, and highly scented sandalwood for the end-pieces. Then he supplied the slaves with refined voices too. That was where the money lay. It was a neat trick. I wish I had thought of it.

  I was kept waiting for some time. When I was finally let into the party, I found Marponius, Petro and Helena sitting together somewhat awkwardly. The first thing they all saw was my bruised face from the auction fight: an unimpressive start.

  We were in a bright red and gold salon. The wall panels were a short series of the adventures of Aeneas, shown as rather a stodgy, bow-legged chap-the artist’s diplomatic allusion to the owner’s own physique. The judge’s wife was dead, so Dido was spared such indignity and could appear as a highly voluptuous, handsome young piece having trouble with her drapery. The artist considered himself a dab hand at diaphanous veils.

  Like his Aeneas, Marponius had a flat-topped head and a lather of light curly hair, receding each side of his rather square brow. His backside was too large, so he tended to strut like a pigeon with too much tail. As I came in he was just telling Helena he was ‘a man of ideas’. A female slave was present for propriety, and she had Petro for extra protection, but Helena knew what men’s ideas were like. She was listening with the usual calm expression she applied to stressful situations, though her pale face told me everything.

  I crossed the room and kissed her formally on one cheek. Her eyes closed briefly, with relief. ‘I’m sorry, Marcus…’

  I sat alongside on an elaborately gilded couch, and held her hand in a light grip. ‘Never apologise!’

  ‘You don’t know what I’ve done!’

  I said to Marponius. ‘Hail, Judge! I gather from the smell of new paint there is still money in scientific tomes?’

  He looked torn. He wanted to slap me down, but had trouble resisting the urge to discuss business. He was proud of his efforts. Unfortunately he was also proud of being a judge. ‘Pity it still leaves you time to indulge an interest in criminology. What’s the charge against my wench?’

  ‘You’re both in this, Falco!’ H
e had a sharp voice, its effect as subtle as dragging a sword across a ceramic plate.

  I noticed that Petronius Longus was looking embarrassed. This depressed me. He rarely made a lot of noise, but he was perfectly capable of treating Marponius with the contempt he deserved. When Petro stayed quite so silent things must be bad.

  I nodded to him as he picked up on my scrutiny. ‘You owe my disreputable nephew Gaius a finder’s fee But I want it on record that I came here voluntarily.’ Petro’s stare remained unhelpful. I tackled his glib superior. ‘So what’s going on, Marponius?’

  ‘I am waiting for someone to appear as a spokesman for the lady.’

  Women possess no judicial identities; they are not allowed to appear in court, but must have a male relation representing them.

  ‘I’ll do it. I act for her father.’

  ‘A message has gone to the Senator,’ Marponius fussed. Helena pursed her lips while even Petronius winced. I hoped Camillus Verus was missing at some unknown public baths.

  ‘Falco will speak for me,’ Helena said coldly, adding, ‘if I must have a male mouthpiece!’

  ‘I require your guardian,’ Marponius corrected. He was a pedantic nuisance.

  ‘We regard ourselves as married,’ said Helena. I tried not to look like a husband who had just been told the household bills were three times what he thought.

  The judge was shocked. I murmured, ‘Socially, it’s a future fixture in the calendar, though a man with your grasp of the Twelve Tables will appreciate that the mere agreement of two parties that a marriage exists brings the contract into effect-‘

  ‘Don’t get clever, Falco!’ Marponius knew the legal tables backwards, but rarely met women who broke the rules. He glanced at Petronius for help, though was obviously remembering he distrusted Petro’s loyalties. ‘What am I supposed to make of this?’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s true love,’ Petronius pronounced, with the sombre air of a public works engineer reporting a cracked sewer in the vicinity.

  I decided against upsetting the judge’s middle-class ethics with further wit. He was more used to threats. ‘Marponius, Helena Justina is an innocent party. Camillus is very public-spirited, but having his noble child wrongly arrested may offend his tolerance. Your best plan is to establish the facts before the Senator arrives, and greet him by restoring his daughter with a public apology.’

  I could sense that the others present were sharing an awkward moment. Agitation flickered in the wondrous dark depths of Helena’s eyes, and her grip on my hand felt tense. More was wrong here than I yet knew.

  A slave came in and informed the judge that the messengers had failed to find Camillus Verus. People were still looking, but his current whereabouts were unknown. Good man. My future father-in-law (as it seemed best to regard him while we were pretending to be respectable) knew when to lie low in a ditch.

  His sensible daughter forced herself to be gracious to the judge: ‘Ask your questions. I do not object in principle to answering in the presence of Didius Falco, and that of Lucius Petronius Longus, who is a valued family friend. Ask me what you want. If they advise me to defer my response on a particular matter, we can stop until Father arrives.’

  I loved her. She was hating herself for sounding so meek-and hating Marponius for swallowing the act. ‘Alternatively,’ I told him, ‘we can all sit around a finger-bowl of honey cakes, and while we wait for her furious parent you can try to sell the lady thirteen scrolls on natural philosophy in a filigree library box.’

  Helena boasted prosaically, ‘If it’s concerned with fiery particles, I think I’ve read that one.’

  ‘Tread gently,’ I teased Marponius. ‘The watch captain has apprehended an educated girl!’

  ‘I’ll expect a rapid batch of injunctions!’ he quipped wryly, taking a grip on himself. Marponius could be an objectionable prig-but he was no fool. If a man had any sense of humour at all, Helena was likely to bring out the best in him.

  ‘Actually, it lets her out of the murder,’ I smiled. ‘She never gets into trouble; she’s always curled up on all the cushions in the house, with her nose in a scroll…’ As we joked, those eyes of hers were still sending me agonised messages. I was desperate to find out the cause. ‘Sweetheart, perhaps the man you regard as your marriage partner can properly ask why you are sitting in a stranger’s house with a distressed expression and somewhat lightly chaperoned?’

  ‘This is a formal examination,’ Marponius interrupted, stiffly reacting to the implied criticism. ‘It is a private session of my court! The lady knows I am a judge attached to the permanent tribunal relating to the Cornelian Law against assassins and drug-making-‘

  ‘Poisons, knifings and patricide,’ I interpreted for Helena. The special murder tribunal had been established by the dictator Sulla. After a hundred and fifty years it had signally failed to stamp out death in the streets, but at least killers were processed efficiently, which suited Rome. The praetor had a whole panel of locally elected judges he could call on to hear cases, but Marponius had set himself up as the expert. He enjoyed his duties. (He enjoyed the status.) When he took an interest in the early stages of a particular investigation, he could rely on being chosen for the hearing afterwards if the officers of the watch ever caught someone.

  Now they had caught me. Helena’s distress made me attack Marponius. ‘Under that legislation is there not a penalty by fire and water for inciting a judge falsely to bring a capital charge?’

  ‘That is correct.’ He had replied too calmly. He was too sure of his ground. Trouble was licking its fangs at me. ‘No charge has been brought yet.’

  ‘Then why is the lady here?’

  ‘A charge does seem likely.’

  ‘On what accusation?’

  Helena answered me herself. ‘Acting as an accessory.’

  ‘Oh cobnuts!’ I looked across at Petronius. His eyes, which were brown, honest and always frank, told me to believe it. I turned back to Helena. ‘What’s happened today? I know you went to the Saepta and visited my father.’ I felt annoyed at having to mention Geminus, but making Helena sound like a girl who devoted her attentions to the family seemed a good idea. ‘Did something occur afterwards?’

  ‘I was going home to your mother’s house. On the way,’ she said rather guiltily, ‘I happened to pass Flora’s Caupona.’

  I was starting to worry. ‘Carry on!’

  ‘I saw the body of Censorinus being taken away. The street was blocked temporarily, so I had to wait. I was of course in a carrying-chair,’ she inserted, having grasped that some niceties were called for. ‘The bearers talked to the waiter from the caupona while we were stuck there, and he happened to be bewailing the fact that he now had to tidy up the rented room.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So I offered to help.’

  I let go of her hand and folded my arms. The bad memory of that bloody room where Censorinus was murdered forced itself back into my mind. I had to repel it. Petronius knew I had been there, which was damning enough; admitting it to Marponius would be my key to a jail cell. Sending my girlfriend looked like the act of a desperate man.

  I knew why she had done it. She wanted to scour the place for evidence that might clear me. But any stranger would assume she had gone there to remove clues that would convict. Marponius was bound to think it. Even Petro would be failing in his duty if he ignored the possibility. His deep sense of unhappiness filled the room almost like an odour. I had never before been so conscious of putting our long friendship under strain.

  ‘It was stupid,’ Helena spoke crisply. ‘I offered on the spur of the moment.’ I sat dumbstruck, unable to ask if she had got as far as the ghastly scene upstairs. She looked so white it seemed probable. My throat closed helplessly. ‘I only reached the downstairs kitchen,’ she said, as if I had transmitted my agony. ‘Then I realised my presence there could only make things appear worse for you.’

  ‘So what happened?’ I managed to croak.

  ‘The waiter seemed desper
ate for company. I suppose he was frightened to enter the murder room alone, even after he knew the body was no longer there. I was trying to think of an excuse to leave, without being rude to the poor man, when Petronius Longus arrived.’

  I stared at him. He spoke to me at last. ‘Encouraging your nicely bred girlfriend to visit the gory scene looks black, Falco.’

  ‘Only if I’m guilty!’ He must have known how closely I verged on losing my temper. ‘And I did not send her.’

  ‘A jury may not believe you,’ Marponius commented.

  ‘Juries are notoriously stupid! That’s why the praetor will expect you to advise him on whether this charge is likely to stick before he lets things reach a court.’

  ‘Oh I shall give the praetor good advice, Falco.’

  ‘If justice is more than a dilettante hobby for you, your advice will be that this case stinks!’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Then you don’t think-end of issue! I had no motive for killing the centurion.’

  ‘He had a financial claim on you.’ Without any formal signal, the atmosphere had shifted so that the judge was grilling me.

  ‘No, he had a claim against my brother. But the claim was rocky. Marponius, I don’t want to slander the brave centurions of the glorious Fifteenth Legion, but my private investigations already suggest it was a claim they could not pursue too openly. Anyway, where are your facts? Censorinus was seen alive, eating his dinner at the caupona, long after I had left and gone home to my own family. Petronius Longus has checked up on my movements the next day, and although there may be a period that I can’t account for with witnesses, neither can you present anyone who will say they saw me at Flora’s when the soldier lost his life.’

  ‘The fact that you disagreed with him so violently-‘

  ‘Rules me out! We had a very strange quarrel, initiated by him, right in front of the very curious public. If you base your case on that, you are calling me a very stupid man.’