The Silver Pigs mdf-1 Page 16

  "Oh no!"

  He sprang this news of her husband's death quite casually; Helena Justina was visibly moved. So was I. I had promised myself the pleasure of dealing with Pertinax. It seemed typical that he chose the kind of associates who robbed me of the chance.

  "Helena Justina, did you and Pertinax remain on good terms?"

  "No terms at all." Her answer was steady.

  He stared at her thoughtfully: "Are you mentioned in his will?"

  "No. He was generous when we divided our property, then he made a new will."

  "You discussed that?"

  "No. But my uncle was one of the witnesses."

  "Have you spoken to Atius Pertinax since your return from abroad?"

  "No."

  Then will you tell me," Titus Caesar requested coolly, "why you went to his house today?"

  The Emperor's son was landing the kind of shocks I like to use myself. He had slid from pleasantries into inquisition in one seamless move. Helena answered him in her calm, positive way, though this turn of events plainly caught her unprepared.

  "I had some idea, sir, knowing him, that I would face him with what we believed. His people told me he was not there"

  "No." In the Mamertine; already dead. Titus looked slyly at me. "So why did you go, Falco?"

  "Stepping in, in case her man should turn uncouth."

  At that he smiled, then turned back to Helena; she had whisked towards me with a jerk of her head so the beaten gold disks on her antique earrings trembled in a slight shower of rustling sound. Ignoring her reproach, I prepared to intervene if Titus overstepped the mark.

  The Pertinax will has a codicil," he announced. "Written only yesterday, with new witnesses. It demands an explanation."

  "I know nothing about it," Helena stated. Her face became tense.

  Ts this necessary, Caesar?" I interrupted lightly. His jaw set but I persisted. "Excuse me, sir. A woman summoned to the law courts expects a friend to speak for her."

  "I imagine Helena Justina can answer for herself!"

  "Oh she can!" I gave him a swift grin. That's why you may prefer to deal with me!"

  She sat in silence, as a woman should when she is being formally discussed by men. Her eyes remained on me. I liked that; though his Caesarship seemed none too keen.

  "Your lady is not in court," Titus remarked quietly, but I saw I had checked him. "Falco, I thought you were working for us! Don't we pay you enough?" A man whose heart has been seduced by the world's most beautiful woman can be excused his romantic streak.

  "Frankly, your rates are on the meagre side," I told him without a flicker.

  He smiled faintly. Everyone knew Vespasian was tight with cash.

  "I'm afraid the new Emperor is famous for that! He needs four hundred million sesterces to restore the Empire to prosperity, and in his list of priorities you stand somewhere after rebuilding the Temple of Jupiter and draining the great lake in Nero's Golden House. He'll be relieved Helena Justina is ensuring you don't starve! So, Didius Falco, as her friend in court, let me tell you your client's ex-husband has left her a rather unusual bequest."

  "Any bequest from that leaking pustule is unusual in my book. What is it?" I demanded.

  Titus sucked the back of his thumbnail, though it was perfectly manicured.

  "The contents of a pepper warehouse in Nap Lane," he said.

  XLIII

  I concealed my excitement, thinking fast.

  "What do you think he had in mind, sir?"

  "I have had men searching to find out."

  "Anything there?"

  "Nothing for us. For the lady, a lavish pantry of spices and enough perfume to bathe like Cleopatra every day of her life." He turned, with a changed tone. "Helena Justina, has this upset you? Pertinax had no family except his adoptive father; perhaps he retained affection from when you were his wife."

  That did upset her. I sat still; it was not for me to tell her whether Pertinax felt affectionate or whether she should want him to.

  Titus went on worrying her, while her startled brain spun.

  "A traitor's goods are forfeit-but recognizing your assistance, my father wishes your legacy to stand. In due course, this gift will be released to you"

  She was frowning. I would have liked to watch Helena demolish a Caesar, if only as a variation from demolishing me. Instead I advised sensibly, "Helena Justina, you ought to tell Titus Caesar now about the people who came to your husband's house, the ones we discussed at Massilia." Mentioning Massilia I tensed, trying not to think about the error I made at the inn. Helena received my encouragement as noncommittally as always.

  Helena Justina repeated the story for Titus in her straightforward style. He demanded names; she stated her list. I remembered some of them this time, though they still meant nothing to me: Aufidius Crispus, Curtius Gordianus, Gordianus' brother Longinus, Faustus Ferentinus, Cornelius Gracilis…

  Titus jumped for a notebook, making swift strokes with a stylus in rapid shorthand, omitting the bother or danger of calling in a secretary. He was famous for the speed of his own shorthand anyway.

  While he studied the names I enquired, "Is it indiscreet to ask whether your brother was coerced?"

  He answered me coldly, and without expression: "No material evidence implicates Domitian." He had been a barrister; it was a barrister's reply. Suddenly he became restless. "Do you know why I rushed home? Rumour!" he exploded. "I had attended the consecration of the Apis Bull at Memphis. I was crowned with a diadem it is part of the normal ritual so Rome decides I am setting myself up as Emperor in the East!"

  "The word at my barber's this afternoon," I commented, "was that even your father had doubts!"

  "Then your barber should have seen us both when I rushed into the Palace yesterday crying Father, here I am! As for my brother, in the civil war he nearly lost his life on the Capitol while the Temple of Jupiter burned over his head. My uncle, who would have advised him, had just been murdered by supporters of Vitellius. At eighteen, with no political experience, Domitian discovered himself representing the Emperor in Rome. It was completely unexpected. He made choices that were foolish, as he realizes now. No one can ask me to condemn my brother, simply because he is so young!"

  I caught Helena's eye; neither of us spoke.

  Titus massaged his forehead.

  "What's the word at your barber's about this tangle, Falco?"

  That your fainer hates disloyalty, but that he always listens to you. That while you were both at Alexandria, Vespasian lost his temper when he heard about your brother's intended foray into the German revolt against him, but you convinced him to be lenient with Domitian." Since he did not deny it I added cheerily, "You'll have spotted I choose my barber for his sharp information, sir!" Helena Justina glanced mournfully, I thought, at my lost curls; I tried not to look at her. "So what now, Caesar?"

  Titus sighed. "My father has asked the Senate to award him a ceremonial Triumph. We shall celebrate the capture of Jerusalem in the grandest procession Rome has ever seen. If you have children, take them; they will view nothing like it in their lives again. It will be our gift to the city and I dare say in return the future of the Flavian dynasty is assured."

  It was Helena who assessed the situation. "Your father's two grown sons are one of his attractions as Emperor," she remarked thoughtfully. "The Flavians are offering Rome long-term stability, so you and Domitian must both ride in the parade. Everything must appear harmonious"

  Titus ducked that: "By the end of this week my father's position will be established. Falco, the word at my barber's is, neither the Praetorians nor my brother will cooperate now in opposing my father. These people will wish to run to earth and let bygones be done. Now I hold this list of names I'm inclined to let them run"

  I gave him a long stare, then scoffed, "So you go to your barber for his cutting!"

  Titus Caesar had a vigorous bunch of locks, snipped to look smart below his gilded wreath, but long enough to keep the handsome curl. I
hate good-looking men, especially when they keep glancing at the woman who came with me.

  "What does that mean, Falco?" Titus asked, not amused.

  "On the strength of his information, sir, your barber's a villain."

  "Falco!"

  That was Helena, trying to save me from drowning again, but I careered on. "He's wrong for two reasons, as the fact that people felt it necessary to silence Pertinax should convince you." Titus quite mildly encouraged me to continue. "Caesar, neither you nor I can let these traitors go. Even with Triferus cheating them, they hold a handy baulk of Imperial silver, which your father needs. Another reason, with due respect, is a bright, golden, loyal, sixteen-year-old girl called Sosia Camillina."

  Helena Justina was looking at me so steadily I felt odd. I stood my ground against them both.

  Titus Caesar ran the fingers of both hands through his wellkept hair.

  "You are perfectly right. My barber's a villain," he said.

  He gazed at me for a moment. "People underestimate you, Falco." "People underrated Vespasian for sixty years!" "Fools still do. Let me tell you his instructions." They had tried to bamboozle me. Titus still wanted to shuffle me off and allow the case against Domitian to die quietly, but I noticed he had a speech ready in case the attempt should fail. He leaned forward earnestly.

  "Omit my brother's name from your enquiries. Find the silver and the murderer of that innocent young girl. Most importantly, identify the man who planned all this."

  I suggested increasing my rates; he decided that for the same enquiry they would pay the same. Always a fool for logic, I accepted it.

  "But I cannot omit Domitian -"

  "You must," Titus told me flatly.

  Then the curtain behind us suddenly swung open. I began to twist round to investigate, when the person who had come in unannounced started whistling. With a shock, I recognized the tune.

  It was a song about Vespasian; about Titus; about Berenice. Soldiers sang it with a slow, low, leery lurch at the end of the night. They sang it in bars and in brothels, with both envy and approval, but no soldier I had ever met would repeat it here. The words went:

  Oh the old man smiled!

  Then the young man smiled!

  So the Queen of all the Jews

  She really couldn't lose

  All she had to do was choose When the old man, And the young man smiled!

  Only one person would dare to whistle so outrageously in the presence of a Caesar: another Caesar. Vespasian was presiding over his banquet, so I knew who our rash visitor must be.

  Domitian, Titus Caesar's younger brother: the imperial playboy who was implicated in our plot.

  XLIV

  "That must have been a contest, brother!"

  "Not all of life is a contest," Titus calmly said.

  For Domitian, the courtesy title of Caesar seemed a fragile irony. He had the family curls, the creased Flavian chin, the bull neck, square body and stocky build. Somehow he failed to convince. He was ten years younger than Titus, which explained both his resentment and his brother's protective loyalty. He was twenty, his face still cherubic and soft.

  "Sorry!" he exclaimed. My first impression was that he shared his brother's ability to disarm. My second impression was, he acted well. "What's this affairs of state?" I remembered how Domitian's role in the state had been terminated briskly by their imperial papa.

  "Man called Didius Falco," Titus told him, sounding the general. "Relation of a decurion in my legion in Judaea."

  It finally struck me that I owed this commission to my own brother. Vespasian and Titus knew Festus, so they trusted me. Not for the first time in my life, I viewed big brother with mixed feelings. Not for the first time in this case, I felt hideously slow.

  As if it had been prearranged, a servant issued me with a sack of coin I could hardly lift. Titus declared in a measured voice, That is my personal gift to your mother, Didius Falco, as commander of the Fifteenth Legion Apollinaris. A small compensation for the support she has lost. Didius Festus was irreplaceable to both of us."

  "You knew him?" I asked, not because I wanted to hear, but when I told my mother all this gilt-edged rubbish she would ask me.

  "He was one of my soldiers; I tried to know them all."

  Domitian broke in, with a laugh that sounded genuine: "We are both lucky, Didius Falco, having brothers with such well earned reputations!"

  In that moment he enjoyed all the gifts of the Flavian house: grace, high intelligence, respect for the task in hand, sturdy wit, good sense. He could have been no less a statesman than his father or his brother; sometimes he managed it. Vespasian had shared his own talents with an even hand; the difference was, only one of his sons handled them with a truly sure grip.

  Titus brought our interview to a close. Tell your mother to be proud, Falco."

  I managed to keep my peace.

  As I turned, Domitian stepped aside.

  "Who's the lady?" he asked me openly, when Helena Justina slipped to her feet in a sparkle of gold and a whisper of silk. His shameless eyes raked her, implying the wander of decadent hands.

  Her discomfort made me so angry, I retaliated: "The ex-wife of a dead aedile called Atius Pertinax."

  And saw his flicker of anxiety at that name.

  Titus had come down to us at the door, also putting his brother to the test: The aedile has left his lady a curious legacy. Now this fortune-hunter trails after her everywhere, keeping one eye on her interests at all turns…"

  Domitian gave no further sign of nerves. He kissed Helena's hand, with the half-closed gaze of a very young man who imagines he is brilliant in bed. She stared at him stonily. Titus intervened, with a smoothness I envied, kissing her cheek like a relative as we reached the door. I let him. If she wanted, she was perfectly capable of stopping him herself.

  I hoped she realized these two came from an old-fashioned Sabine family. Stripped of their purple, they were provincial and ordinary: close with their money, ruled by their women, and obsessed with work. They both had paunches already, and neither of them was as tall as me.

  I had to leave Helena alone while I found someone to roust out her chair. The empty atrium seemed so vast I reeled, trying to take it in, but as soon as I returned I spotted her, a shaft of deep sea green sitting on a fountain edge. Overshadowed by the hundred-foot-high statue of Nero as the Sun God, she looked anxious and shy.

  A man in a senator's wide purple stripes was addressing her; the type who leans back with his gut heaving over his belt. Her replies were abrupt. Her glance settled on me gratefully as I skipped across.

  "Where else should I look for a naiad but in front of a water-splash? There's a delay finding our chair but it will come"

  I planted myself alongside. Sir-in-the-stripes looked annoyed; I cheered up. She would not introduce us. After he took his leave I noticed her relax.

  "Friend of yours?"

  "No. Oddly enough, I'm a friend of his wife!"

  "Well, just tip me a nod if you want me to disappear."

  "Oh thanks!" she stormed bleakly.

  I sat down beside her on the fountain bowl, musing, "Funny thing, divorce. Seems to hang a sign saying "vulnerable" round a woman's neck."

  We hit one of those rare moments when she allowed me to see her under private strain.

  "Is this common? I was starting to feel I must be odd!" I saw her chair coming, so merely smiled in reply. "Didius Falco, will you see me safe to the house?"

  "Good gods, yes! This is Rome at night! Will your chair take me and my bag of gold?"

  Dining out with the Caesars had given me extravagant ideas. Still she nodded, then coolly informed the bearers they were taking me as well.

  We climbed aboard, both twisting diagonally to avoid bumping knees. The bearers set off, down the north side of the Palatine, going slowly because of the extra weight. It was not quite dark.

  Helena Justina was looking so unhappy I had to say, "Don't think about what happened to Pertinax."
r />   "No."

  "And don't try to convince yourself he was sorry when you divorced him"

  "No, Falco!" I leaned back in my corner of the chair, twisting my lip. In the near darkness she apologized. "You're so passionate when you give advice! Did your hero brother have a wife?"

  "A girl and a child he never heard about."

  "Marcia!" she exclaimed. Her tone changed. "I thought she must be yours."

  "I told you not!"

  "Yes."

  "I don't lie to you!"

  "No. I beg your pardon… Who looks after them now?"

  "Me."

  I sounded terse and I was shifting about, but it had nothing to do with anything we had said. We had descended as far as the Forum before I was sure: furtive footsteps were keeping pace with us, too level and much too close.

  "What's the matter, Falco?"

  "We're being shadowed. All the way from the Palace"

  I banged on the roof, springing out as the chair stopped. Helena Justina slid after me almost before I offered my hand. I snatched up my mother's bag of gold, then I handed her ladyship straight off the open street and into the lighted doorway of the nearest dreadful dive, as if she were some bored socialite paying me to take her to see the low life of Rome at night.

  In the lurid light of their entrance cubicle, she looked so highly strung I almost wondered if she wished she was.

  XLV

  There was a tip tilted head of Venus blowing her cheeks out beside a welcoming motto above the outside door, where a stupendous man extracted a stupendous entrance fee. It was a brothel. I couldn't help that. It took us off the streets; it was warm, dark, and no doubt confirmed her ladyship's abysmal opinion of me.

  I would have to find the entrance money myself. Client or not, I could hardly ask the senator to excavate his bank box to pay for me taking his delicate daughter to a place as foul as this.

  The proprietors here made a meagre living from the profits of fornication, and a small fortune from picking pockets and selling stolen clothes. There was one cavernous room, with hides hung on poles round the walls to form cubbyholes where fraud, theft or murder could take place in decent privacy. Other varieties of intercourse occurred in whatever patch of gloom the participants already occupied.