Two For The Lions mdf-10 Page 2

  Antonia Caenis inclined her head and greeted me without being introduced. "Didius Falco."

  She was good; I had once stood aside for her when I was visiting Titus Caesar at the Palace, but it was some time ago and we had never met formally. I had already heard she was intelligent, and possessed a phenomenal memory. Apparently I had been well catalogued: but in which pigeon-hole?

  "Antonia Caenis."

  I was standing, the traditional position for the servile element in the presence of the great. The ladies enjoyed treating me like a barbarian. I winked at Helena, who coloured slightly, afraid I might wink at Caenis too. I reckoned Vespasian's dame would have handled it, but I was a guest in her house. Besides, she was a woman with unknown Palace privileges. Before I risked annoying her I wanted to assess just how powerful she was.

  "You have presented me with a most generous gift," said Caenis. That was news. As it had been explained to me some months ago in Hispania, Helena Justina was proposing a private sale of some purple-dyed Baetican cloth that would be suitable for imperial uniforms. It was supposed to bring in goodwill, but had been intended as a commercial transaction For a senator's daughter Helena possessed a surprising knack for bargaining; if she had now decided to waive payment, she must have a very good reason: something else was being brokered here today. I could guess what it was.

  "I should think you are fairly showered with presents nowadays," I commented daringly.

  "Rather an irony," returned Caenis, unperturbed. She had a cultured Palace voice, but with a permanent dry tone. I could imagine how she and Vespasian might always have mocked at the establishment; she at least probably still did so.

  "People believe you can influence the Emperor."

  "That would be most improper."

  "I don't see why," protested Helena Justina. "Men in power always have their intimate circle of friends who advise them. Why should it not include the women they trust?"

  "Of course I am free to say what I think!" smiled the Emperor's mistress.

  "Forthright women are a joy," I said. Helena and I had exchanged views on the crispness of cabbage in terms that still made my hair stand on end.

  "I'm glad that you think so," Helena commented.

  "Vespasian always values sound opinions," replied Caenis, speaking like an official court biographer, though I sensed domestic satire much like our own was lurking underneath.

  "With his burden of work in rebuilding the Empire," I suggested, "Vespasian must also welcome a partner in his labours."

  "Titus is a great joy to him," returned Caenis serenely. She knew how to misunderstand a tricky point. "And I am sure he has hopes of Domitian." Vespasian's elder son was virtually co-Emperor and although the younger had made a few gaffes, he still carried out formal duties. I had a deep-running feud with Domitian Caesar and fell silent, brooding on how he charged me with bile. Antonia Caenis finally waved me to a seat.

  In the three years since Vespasian became Emperor popular suspicion had it that this lady was enjoying herself. It was believed that the highest posts-tribuneships and priesthoods-could be allocated at her word (in return for payment). Pardons were bought. Decisions were fixed. It was said that Vespasian encouraged this trade, which not only enriched and empowered his concubine but bought grateful friends for him. I wondered about their arrangement for sharing the financial profits. Was it divided by a strict percentage? On a sliding scale? Did Caenis make deductions for expenses and wear and tear?

  "Falco, I am not in a position to sell you favours," she declared, as if she read my thoughts. All her life people must have made up to her because of her closeness to the court. Her eyes were dark and watchful. In the mad, suspicious turbulence of the Claudian family, too many of her patrons and mends had died. Too many of her years had been lost to painful uncertainty. Whatever was for sale in this elegant villa would be handled with scrupulous attention, not least attention to its value.

  "I am not in a position to buy," I replied frankly.

  "I cannot even make you promises."

  I disbelieved that.

  Helena leant forwards to speak, so her blue stole slipped from her left shoulder and fell across her lap, its trim catching in one of the row of light bangles she wore to cover the scar from a scorpion bite. She shook the stole free impatiently. The gown below was white, a formal choice. I noticed she was wearing an old agate necklace that she had owned before I met her, subconsciously playing the senator's daughter again. Pulling rank seemed unlikely to work.

  "Marcus Didius is far too proud to pay for privileges." I loved Helena when she spoke so earnestly, especially when it was about me. "He won't tell you himself: but he has been sorely disappointed-and after Vespasian had made him a direct offer of promotion to the middle rank."

  Caenis listened with an air of distaste, as if complaints were bad manners. She had undoubtedly heard the whole story of how I went to the Palace to claim my reward. Vespasian had promised me social advancement, but I chose to ask for it one night when Vespasian himself had been out of Rome and Domitian was handling pleas. Overconfident, I brazened it out with the princeling; for that I paid the penalty. I held evidence against Domitian on a very serious charge, and he knew it. He had never moved against me openly, but that night he took his revenge by turning me down.

  Domitian was a brat. He was also dangerous, and I reckoned Caenis was shrewd enough to see it. Whether she would ever disturb the family peace by saying so was another matter. But if she was prepared to criticize him, would she speak up on my behalf?

  Caenis must know what we wanted. Helena had made an appointment to come here, and as an ex-secretary to the court, Caenis would naturally have obtained full briefing material before confronting supplicants.

  She made no answer, still pretending not to intervene in affairs of state.

  "Disappointment has never made Marcus falter in his service to the Empire." Helena spoke again, without bitterness though her expression was austere. "His work has included several very dangerous provincial journeys, and you must be aware of what he achieved in Britain, Germany, Nabataea, and Spain. Now he wants to offer his services to the Census, as I outlined to you just now-"

  This was received with a cool, noncommittal nod.

  "It's an idea I conceived with Camillus Verus," I explained. "Helena's father is of course a good friend of the Emperor."

  Caenis graciously picked up the hint: "Camillus is your patron?" Patronage was the weft of Roman society (where the warp was gran). "So has the senator spoken to the Emperor on your behalf?"

  "I was not brought up to be anybody's client."

  "Papa supports Marcus Didius fully," interposed Helena.

  "I am sure that he would do."

  "It seems to me," Helena carried on, growing fiercer, "Marcus has done as much for the Empire as he should do without formal recognition."

  "What do you think, Marcus Didius?" asked Caenis, ignoring Helena's anger.

  "I would like to tackle this Census job. It poses a good challenge, and I don't deny it could be very lucrative."

  "I was not aware Vespasian paid you exorbitant fees!"

  "He never has," I grinned. "But this would be different. I won't act on piecework rates. I want a percentage of whatever income I recover for the state."

  Vespasian could never agree to that." The lady was emphatic.

  "Think about it." I could be tough too.

  "Why, what sort of amounts are we discussing?"

  "If as many people as I suspect are attempting to fiddle their returns, the sums to be extracted from culprits will be enormous. The only limitation would be my personal stamina."

  "But you have a partner?" So she knew that.

  "He's untried as yet, though I'm confident."

  "Who is he?"

  "Just an out of work scrutineer my old mother took pity on."

  "Indeed." I reckoned Antonia Caenis had discovered it was Anacrites. She might know him. She could dislike him as much as I did-or she could view him
as Vespasian's servant and ally. I stared her out.

  She smiled abruptly. It was frank, intelligent, and startlingly full of character. There was no recognition that she was an elderly woman who should feel ready to relinquish her place in the world. For a moment I glimpsed what Vespasian must always have seen in her. She must be well up to the old man's undoubted calibre. "Your proposition sounds attractive, Marcus Didius. I shall certainly discuss it with Vespasian if an occasion arises."

  "I bet you keep a note tablet with a formal list of queries that you and he pore over at a set hour every day!"

  "You have a peculiar notion of our daily routine."

  I smiled gently. "No, I just thought you might pin down Titus Flavius Vespasianus in the same way that Helena tackles me."

  They both laughed. They were laughing at me. I could bear it. I was a happy man. I knew Antonia Caenis was going to land me the job I wanted, and I had high hopes that she might do more than that.

  "I suppose," she said, still being direct, "you want to explain to me what went wrong about promoting you?"

  "I expect you know what went wrong, lady! Domitian was of the opinion that informers are sordid characters, none of whom is worthy of inclusion in the lists for the middle rank."

  "Is he correct?"

  "Informers are far less sordid than some of the musty gargoyles with clammy ethics who people the upper rank lists."

  "No doubt," said Caenis with the slightest suggestion of reproof: "The Emperor will bear your strictures in mind when he reviews the lists."

  "I hope he does."

  "Your remarks could indicate, Marcus Didius, that you would not now wish to be aligned near the musty gargoyles."

  "I can't afford to feel superior."

  "But you can risk outspokenness?"

  "It's one of the talents that will help me screw cash from Census cheats."

  She looked severe. "If I were writing minutes of this meeting, Marcus Didius, I should rephrase that as recovery of revenue'."

  "Is there to be a formal record?" Helena asked her quietly.

  Caenis looked even more stern. "Only in my head."

  "So there is no guarantee that any reward promised to Marcus Didius will be acknowledged at a future date?" Helena never lost sight of her original aim.

  I leant forwards abruptly. "Don't worry It could be safely written on twenty scrolls, yet if I lost favour they could all be lost in the archives by inattentive scribes. If Antonia Caenis is prepared to support me, her word is enough."

  Antonia Caenis was well used to being badgered for favours. "I can only make recommendations. All matters of state are at the discretion of the Emperor."

  I bet! Vespasian had been listening to her since she was a girl, when he was just an impoverished young senator. I grinned at Helena. "There you are. That's the best guarantee you could want."

  At the time I really thought it was.

  IV

  Half a day later I was called to the Palace. I saw neither Vespasian nor Titus. A silky administrator called Claudius Laeta pretended he was responsible for employing me. I knew Laeta. He was responsible only for chaos and grief

  "I don't seem to have the name of your new partner." He was fumbling with scrolls to avoid my eye.

  "How unusually casual. I'll send you in a chitty with his name and a full resume." Laeta could see I had no intention of doing it.

  Acting pleasant (a certain sign that he had been leaned on hard by the Emperor) he then gave me the job I had asked for. We agreed my percentage of the profits. Numeracy must be Laeta's weak point. He knew everything about inventive drafting and greasy diplomacy, but could not spot an inflated tender. I came away feeling smug.

  Our first subject to investigate was Calliopus, a semi-successful lanista from Tripolitania who trained and promoted gladiators, mainly the kind who fight wild beasts. When Calliopus produced his personnel list I had heard of none of them. He owned no top fighters in the glamour class. No women would throw themselves at his mediocre crew, and there were no gold victory crowns displayed in his office. But I did know the name of his lion: Leonidas.

  The lion shared his praenomen with a great Spartan general; that hardly endeared him to Romans like me, who had been brought up from the crawling frame to be wary of Greeks in case we became infected with touche habits like wearing beards and discussing philosophy. But I loved this lion before I even met him. Leonidas was a man-eater, a trained one. At the next suitable Games he was going to execute a repulsive sexual killer called Thurius. Thurius had been preying on women for decades, then chopping them into pieces and dumping the remains; I myself had identified and brought him to court. The first thing I had done when Anacrites and I met Calliopus was to ask for a conducted tour of the cages, and once there, I made a beeline for the lion.

  Addressing Leonidas like a trusted colleague, I explained very carefully the degree of ferocious savagery I expected from him on the day. "I'm sorry we can't get it over with at the Saturnalia, but that's a festival of jollity, so the priests say doing away with criminals would pollute the event. Well this gives the bastard longer to dwell on his agony when you finally get to him. Rip him to shreds just as slowly as you can, Leo make him linger."

  "No use, Falco." The keeper, Buxus, had listened. "Lions are kind and polite killers. One paw swipe and you're out."

  "I'll make a note to ask for the big cats if I ever fall foul of the law!"

  Leonidas was still young. He was fit and bright-eyed, though foul of breath from eating bloody meat. Not too much of it-they kept him starved so he would do his work efficiently. He lay at the far edge of his cage in the semi-darkness. The heavy twitch of his tail was filled with contemptuous menace. Distrustful golden eyes watched us.

  "What I admire about you, Falco," Anacrites commented, coming up behind me on stealthy feet, "is your personal attention to the most obscure detail."

  It was better than hearing Petronius Longus constantly moaning that I became bogged down in trivia, but it meant the same: just like the old one, my new partner was telling me I wasted time.

  "Leonidas," I stated (wondering what the chances were of persuading the lion to devour my new partner), "is entirely relevant. He cost a lot of money, didn't he, Buxus?"

  "Naturally." The keeper nodded. He was ignoring Anacrites; he preferred to deal with me. "The problem is catching them alive. I've been over to Africa and seen it. They use a kid for bait. Getting beasts to pounce and fall into a pit is dodgy enough-then they have to extract the cats without damage, while they are roaring their heads off and trying to maul anyone who comes close. Calliopus uses an agent who sometimes snatches cubs for us-but he has to hunt and kill the mother first. And then there's the bother of rearing the cubs until they're a useful size for the Games."

  I grinned. "No wonder the proverb says the first requirement for a successful politician is knowing a good source for tigers."

  "We don't have tigers," said Buxus gravely. Satire was lost on him. Jokes about senators bribing the people with gory spectacles just bounced off his bald cranium. "Tigers come from Asia, and that's why so few reach Rome. We only have links with North Africa, Falco. We get lions and leopards. Calliopus comes from Oea-"

  "Right. He keeps the business in the family. Does Calliopus' agent rear his lion cubs over there?"

  "No point wasting the expense of shipping them-that's a game in itself-not until they're big enough to be of some use."

  "So Calliopus owns a menagerie in Tripolitania as well as this one?"

  "Yes." That would be the establishment in Oea that Calliopus had sworn to the Censors was in his brother's name. Anacrites surreptitiously made a note on a tablet, finally aware what I was driving at. The beasts could be as valuable as they liked; it was land, whether in Italy or the provinces, that we were tracking down. We suspected that this Oean "brother" of Calliopus was a fiction.

  That had been enough for us to pursue on site the first day. We collected the menagerie records to add to a pile of scrolls ab
out Calliopus' fighting tough men, then we slogged back with the documents to our new office.

  This roost was another point of disagreement. All my career I had operated as an informer from a gruesome apartment in Fountain Court up on the Aventine. Complainants could traipse up the six flights of stairs and rouse me from bed to listen to their woes. Timewasters baulked at the climb. Bad fellows who wanted to dissuade me from my investigations by hitting me hard on the head could be heard coming.

  When Helena and I had needed more spacious living accommodation we moved across the road, keeping my old place to work from. I had let Petronius move in after his wife threw him out for philandering, and even though we were no longer partners, he was still there. Anacrites insisted that we now required somewhere to stash the scrolls we amassed for the Census job, somewhere without Petro glowering at us disapprovingly. What we did not need, as I wasted my breath saying, was to install ourselves among the deadbeats at the Saepta Julia.

  He fixed it up without consulting me. That was the kind of partner my mother had stuck me with.

  The Saepta is a large enclosure next to the Pantheon and the Election Hall. Its internal arcades in those days-before the great clearances-were home to informers. The ones who lurked there were the slyest and grubbiest. The political creeps. Nero's old crawlers and grasses. No tact and no taste. No ethical standards. The glory of our profession. I wanted nothing to do with any of them, but Anacrites had plunged us right into the middle of their louse-ridden habitat.

  The other low class of Saepta Julia wildlife was composed of goldsmiths and jewelers, a clique loosely formed around a group of auctioneers and antique-dealers. One of them being my father, from whom it was my habit to keep as far away as possible.

  "Welcome to civilization!" crowed Pa, bursting in within five minutes of us arriving back there.

  "Get lost, Pa."

  "That's my boy."

  My father was a square, heavy man with untamed grey curls and what passed even among women of experience for a charming grin. He had a reputation as a shrewd businessman; that meant he would sooner lie than tell the truth. He had sold more fake Athenian blackware vases than any other auctioneer in Italy. A potter turned them out for him specially.