A Capitol Death Read online

  “That’s buggered up the Triumph, then!” scoffed Scorpus, happily.

  “If only!” I grinned. Camaraderie helps. I can fake it. “Find the mallet—the one for bashing in tent pegs for their guy ropes. I bet it will have Lemni’s blood on it. What’s bothering me is that Larth is supposed to be sitting inside this tent, doing the mystic business—but at least part of the hallowed structure looks to be wrapped around Lemni. So, is the rest still up there on top of the Arx? Where is Larth? And is he dead too?”

  I had a vision of an equally lifeless augur, propped on a stool inside half of a broken tent. Scorpus was bound to regard that as moonshine, proof to him that all informers are a nightmare, while female ones are worst of all and fanciful with it. So I let it rest. I had asked the valid questions.

  Scorpus changed.

  “Get lost, Albia!” His voice suddenly dropped. The first time he ordered me to vanish had been routine banter: this was urgent. Scorpus had seen somebody heading towards us. I recognised him too: he had “militiaman” written all over him and it did not make me feel warm and protected. He was an imperial agent called Julius Karus whom we both saw as vile.

  “Ha! Yonder comes an emissary from the Underworld. Your filthy friend.”

  “Dash up the steps, girl. Up that hill before he gets here!” Scorpus had become fully complicit with me. “Find your Larth and squeeze everything he knows out of him while I head off His Nuisanceship as long as I can.”

  I needed no telling twice.

  Karus was one of Domitian’s new favourites. A self-serving, nose-poking, loyalty-lacking, tale-telling murderous official. He had been dumped on the vigiles cohorts to carry out an undercover special mission, one so secret nobody was supposed to know its purpose even if he was working alongside them during it. He came and went; the only sure thing was that, whatever he was doing, he held dangerous powers.

  I happened to know his background. When the Emperor had entertained doubts about a certain provincial governor, Julius Karus organised an execution; I believed he acted on his own initiative. Snuffing out a serving governor was highly unusual—who knew what reports this secret envoy sent to Rome?—but the upshot was that an important man died, then all his bodyguard cavalry was shifted to a new province, personally escorted there by Julius Karus. Now Karus was here in the city, laden with ornamental thank-you spears. He was the kind of man who would invent a post for himself—and be given it. A lovely chum for Domitian. Bad news for Rome.

  Scorpus was forced to work with him; my rule was to avoid the man. So, conducting myself like a member of the public who had sacrificial wheaten cakes to lay upon an altar, I did a bunk towards the upper temples. Leaving the Tullianum jail behind, I nipped up the Gemonian Stairs, then sheered off towards the Arx.

  When I could, I looked back. Scorpus and Karus were staring down at the corpse. In deep, sombre conversation, neither glanced up to where I was. The rest of the vigiles had sharpened their stance. I won’t say they were drawn up in a straight line, but as they conglomerated in freeform, they fixed humble gazes on their superiors, as if they believed all officers were gods from whom they could learn wonderful things.

  That is not what any of them thinks, believe me.

  * * *

  I had urgent work to do. At the place where I had talked to my two witnesses on my first day, I found a sad scene. The other half of the observation tent lay on the ground, thrown down in a rough pile with buckled folds. Its loose guy ropes were tangled. Their pegs had been ripped out, leaving a mess of divots. I failed to find Lemni’s mallet. As I peered below the leather, humps under the tent proved to be upturned stools. I saw no sign of Larth.

  I stood still, looking around. The ground had been trampled. There might have been a fight. Lemni was active and seemed as if he could handle himself—I had told him so; an assailant could not have found him easy to subdue. I walked the scene slowly, finding only one clue: a tiny bent piece of metal. It was not much longer than a fingernail, originally curved into a tubular shape but now wrenched open, with some sort of brown fibre trapped in its edge. I wrapped it in the napkin I keep in my work satchel.

  The Auguraculum is an unwalled sanctuary, large enough for several tents to be put up at a distance from one another when several public events required omens at the same time. (Or, as I now knew, when the portent-spotters were earning backhanders from private clients.) On such an occasion, the tents must look like a mystic horse fair. Today the outdoor space lay deserted. Nobody was observing whether it was a good month to start a war or found a city, or even whether Domitian could expect the sun to shine on his Triumph.

  Instinct took me to the huge adjacent temple of Juno Moneta. There, nothing was happening at the outside altar; the stone was cold to the touch. I climbed the long flight of steps. Ignoring protocol, I entered the cella. The light was dim; clean-burning oil lamps flickered amid an aura of very superior incense. Voices murmured.

  I had guessed correctly. A group of augurs was anxiously consulting the goddess, though her calm, broad-browed statue looked unimpressed. Priests who failed to catch the sacred geese yesterday were slightly more use here, calming the distressed augurs; one even helpfully held their crooked staffs while they appealed for divine aid.

  They are big women, those goddesses of the Olympian pantheon. You don’t get to be such a vital force without looking as if you tone up daily with your trainer. Juno Moneta had forearms and thighs like a laundress’s, and hips that might safely produce twins. She was the deity associated with marriage, childbirth and the health of the Roman community, but her femininity was muscular. As Juno Who Warns, she was armoured: shield- and spear-carrying in her protectress outfit, which has fetching boots and a goatskin cloak.

  I could never imagine settling down in a swing-seat for mint tea and a good gossip with the Queen of Heaven. It was surprising such a chunk of womanhood ever put up with a husband who went out all the time for serial adultery. Surely she was up to the situation with the over-virile Jupiter? After all, this hefty one owned her own golden chariot, pulled by her trademark peacocks (which are difficult birds), not to mention her handmaiden Iris and, I believe, fourteen nymphs; in a domestic brawl, she could definitely summon back-up.

  If she had been a client of mine I would have suggested Juno stop being dependent; she should kick out Jupiter tomorrow, even if it meant losing the dowry. Who needs the aggravation?

  Most of the augurs beseeching her advice had upraised arms and the constipated expression people think goes well with praying. I found one who was giving his arms a rest and whispered that I desperately needed to find Larth.

  He came out into the porch with me. His name was Alichsantre. So he said, rather muzzily. Etruscan is a lispy language. He looked pure Roman to me, a scrawny-necked tenth-generation patrician, with consuls going halfway back to Romulus, himself boring the Senate now for many, many decades.

  He said Larth had discovered the tent wreck this morning, with Lemni missing. After alerting his colleagues, Larth had gone down into the city to look for his assistant.

  “Where?”

  “I cannot tell you.”

  “Do not know, or will not say?” I demanded. In true Senate style, when faced with an ordinary question, the wimp failed to answer. I decided not to ask him anything difficult in case his angina flared. One day, 600 woolly old grunts like this would be asked to approve the assassination of our emperor. At least half would instantly wet themselves.

  Senators are not used to being chivvied by informers. Alichsantre looked anxious. I told him what had happened to Lemni, stressing that it was death by unnatural causes. I told him I was investigating. He turned even more wittery. I suggested that if the augurs felt nervous, they should send over to the Capitol for Nestor, who would give the Auguraculum Praetorian protection.

  Alichsantre bridled. To my surprise, he snapped that, from what he knew of Nestor, the man could not protect a bedbug. Concurring, I decided I liked this augur after all.

&n
bsp; “So, tell me what you know about Larth and his movements today. If you say he came up here and discovered the tent smashed this morning, he must have been absent for some reason. Where was he before?”

  “He went home. It is not necessary to repeat observations every night. We do not live on the Arx.”

  “Larth lives somewhere in Rome?”

  Alichsantre looked surprised at the question. “He has a house in the city. He has homes in many places.”

  “Of course.”

  A senator would be worth at least a million sesterces, a trillion or more in many cases; most have estates in their home province, plus villas at the coast, the lakes and the mountains, not to mention investment properties that can be sited anywhere so long as their olive and wine income is good. Larth looked shabby, but I was not misled. To have snaffled an important post as an augur, he knew where all the political strings were, and the right way to pull them. If he wore battered sandals when he came on the Arx, it only showed he had learned that the open ground by the Temple of Juno Moneta was riddled with goose-droppings.

  “If you will, Alichsantre, tell me about him and Lemni. From my observation, they were on good terms.”

  “Lemni was well known to all. He and Larth had a particularly close working relationship.”

  “They enjoyed long conversations about races at the Circus?” I remembered that from when I first met them. “Did they like a gamble?” That was a tricky question, since gambling is illegal.

  “They studied form.” Alichsantre toned it down. “They both followed the Green faction.” That made sense, even if the Blues were better. No one supported the Golds, of course, apart from my mad husband.

  “So where did Larth go to look for Lemni?”

  Alichsantre blinked and looked vague. “I believe Lemni has family. Larth must know who they are and where they live, though I do not. He went to enquire of them.”

  “You spoke to him this morning? Think carefully, please. Until just now, you and your colleagues thought Lemni was simply missing. Now I’ve told you, was it your impression Larth knew already that Lemni was dead?”

  Alichsantre understood my question. If Larth had known the truth all along, it implied his involvement. He would come under suspicion, even as a senator. It also meant that by rushing off “to look for Lemni” he would reach any family members first, taking them the bad news before I could see their reaction. Alichsantre took fright; he was not saying.

  I knew better than to accuse a member of the Senate, one who conducted revered religious rites, of covering for his co-worker. I let Alichsantre go back into the cella to assist his other lofty colleagues in cajoling Juno.

  Alone in the porch, I looked out towards the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitol opposite. Standing at the top of the temple podium I was suddenly aware of how high up these peaks were. I understood why the Arx felt so near to Heaven that it had become a place for prophecy. There seemed more chance here of catching the attention of any gods who might exist.

  They had not prevented the deaths of Gabinus and Lemni. That’s the indifference of deities, of course. Don’t waste your wheat cakes or sacrificial animals. The job description of gods says they must never care.

  Before the elevation made me dizzy, I walked carefully down the temple steps.

  XXIX

  Whether or not he had found Lemni’s relations, Larth was now returning to the Arx. I spotted his tall, black-clad figure ascending the stairs on the riverbank side. His thin shoulders were hunched as he strode up the long flight, obviously breathless. I let him see me waiting.

  “Lemni?” he gasped. If he was pretending not to know the assistant’s fate, he made a convincing job of it. His voice was less resonant than usual, though he still sounded as if he was asking a sphinx to prophesy a king’s fate.

  “Found.” I spoke evenly, watching his reaction.

  “Where?” Larth was getting his breath back. His autocratic manner came with it. “I discovered the tent, vandalised. I feel anxious—”

  “I am afraid you should,” I said. “Be prepared. Lemni is dead.” I have some tact. I could have demanded why Larth’s auguries had never prophesied this would happen. Given how often informers are themselves caught out by tricks of Fate, I chose fellow-feeling. It could be my turn next. “I cannot make this easy, sir. Lemni was murdered. His body has been found today below the Tarpeian Rock, enclosed in part of your observation tent. There is no doubt. Someone battered him, then threw him over.”

  Larth reeled. “Oh, no … I want to see him.”

  “Not yet. The vigiles and a special agent have the body. Because of the similarities with Gabinus’ death, I was asked to speak to you if we met first. We have urgent questions.”

  The augur looked askance. It is true I was pushing my role in any investigation. A good informer does.

  “Talk to me. It will be better,” I urged gently.

  He capitulated.

  I wanted to separate him from his colleagues. I had to keep him away from Scorpus and Julius Karus too. Once the officials dug their claws into him, he would be useless to me. Saying it was for privacy, I led him to the Temple of Vejovis. We went inside.

  The youthful god, clean-shaven and long-haired, like Apollo, was supposed to be a guardian of slaves and of gladiators who refused to admit defeat. His small temple between the two peaks was a haven for wrongly persecuted people, also dedicated to the protection of newcomers to Rome. A wholesome place. Jupiter gazed down on us with Greek good looks and an air of compassion while we talked. Luckily today there were no guides about, no tourists who might listen in. Luckily I had left my dog at home, so she was not sniffing the cult statue.

  “Larth,” I began, “your assistant, who seemed particularly close to you, has been killed. The method was different in minor ways, but it may be no coincidence that it follows Gabinus’ death. Tell me about Lemni.”

  “I am not obliged to do that.”

  This was going to be hard. “No, but it will look bad for you if you refuse. Am I right that he worked with you more often than with the other augurs?”

  “Only because we combined well together. I found him pleasant and efficient. He understood the rituals and rarely made mistakes.” Larth made that sound as if he had all the choice, though I suspect Lemni let him think it. That relaxed, self-motivated character would make up his own mind whose watch he sat in on.

  “You shared an interest in horse-racing,” I probed.

  “Irrelevant.”

  Because of the legal ban on open gambling, I guessed Lemni placed Larth’s bets for him. Many people flout the law. Having a flutter is a Roman occupation. No senator would be deterred although, just as he had to use an agent for trade, Larth would have to send a runner to act on his behalf if he was betting. It must be someone he trusted, in case he won. He would not want his runner to abscond with a huge windfall.

  If an augur won, was it insider dealing? Could bird flocks tell Larth which horses to back? Would other punters feel annoyed? Would bookmakers say he skewed the odds? Must they lay off large risks, whenever Larth participated?

  “Had you a gambling connection with Gabinus?” I shot in.

  The sonorous one spluttered. He kicked his feet in their ragged sandals. “Most certainly not! I never knew the man. I told you that.”

  “Did Lemni run bets for him too?”

  “He hated him. I order you to cease this line of questioning.”

  “Why? What inconvenient fact might I unearth?” I kept pushing. “Unless you knew Lemni intimately, how can you be certain? He seems to have been his own man. I take it he never lived in your household.”

  “Of course not. He was officially employed.”

  “Larth, he did not strike me as a public slave.”

  “No. His antecedents were poor people. He was a free man, though.”

  “So where did he live?”

  “One of the tenements beside the Arx.” Like Valeria Dillia.

  “Is that where you we
nt to look for him today?”

  “No.” Immediately I saw Larth regret that. “Yes, of course,” he corrected himself, without apology. “Lemni was not there.”

  “Really? I believe you were gone most of the morning. Those tenements are very close to here. So, when you could not find him at home, where else did you go?”

  The augur was attempting a cover-up now, and was not very good at it. Having committed himself, he could not bring himself to tell me a straight lie. “I believed he might have relatives so I went to explore, but I never found them.”

  “Where was that? What neighbourhood do they live in?”

  “Oh … An old Suburra district. I was unsure where to look. Nobody could help me find the place. It felt dangerous. I came back empty-handed.”

  “It’s not a district for an innocent to wander around, that’s true. What relations do you think he had? Did he chatter about his family? Was he married? Parents? Children?”

  “He spoke of a sister, and I believe had a brother somewhere.”

  “You need to be precise.” I was annoyed now. “Someone must find these people to tell them Lemni has died. It would be a kindness to give me directions, so I may pass on the news quickly.”

  “I have no other information.”

  “They will want to give him a funeral.”

  “I shall pay for a funeral,” Larth intoned magisterially. “Out of my long-standing affection for Lemni.”

  “And how will you inform his people about the ceremony?”

  I watched him mentally snatch an idea. “A notice in the Forum Romanum should suffice.”

  Now he really was clutching at straws. I gave up on him.

  For now.

  XXX

  I sent Larth down the hill, saying he should make himself known to Scorpus if he wanted to see Lemni’s corpse before it was removed.

  As soon as the gaunt figure flapped off in his ghastly sandals down towards the Tullianum, I hopped back to the Temple of Juno. The other augurs were emerging, so at the bottom of the steps I battened onto Alichsantre. He looked nervous again. The others scarpered, leaving him in the lurch.