The Silver Pigs mdf-1 Read online

  "Tut, sir! I can't let you rob my client!" I cried.

  For one brave instant as Helena looked round what passed between us was no more than lovers' shared reproach, as if her sense of betrayal gnawed as painfully as mine.

  "Oh gods, Falco," she uttered miserably. "Don't you ever give up?"

  My legs were shaking and my fingers sticky with blood. I had one eye fixed on her uncle and he had his fixed on the sword; it lay across a barrel equidistant from us both. You could tell he was middle class; he was so careless with his tools.

  "No point lying still in the dark until some villain is ready to slip his blade between my ribs Meto was setting down the basket of peppercorns he had been filling with a scoop. He had seen I had a dagger in my hand. I added gently, "I use the word villain advisedly of course."

  Without letting my gaze fall I began to unbuckle my belt. Wrapping the buckle end round my left fist, I let the leather slide through the jet bracelet which I brought into his view.

  "You seem curiously nostalgic, sir! Take this, for instance:

  Sosia Camillina's piece of jet He stiffened. Then I dropped the quiet question: "Why did you take it? Why did you keep it? Was it triumph over me, or pity for her? A trophy or a genuine memento?" When he made no answer I hurled at him, "Or guilt? Publius Camillus Meto, did you kill your own child?"

  Helena gasped.

  "Don't be a fool!" Meto exclaimed.

  I had shaken him. I had shaken her. Saying it aloud, I had shaken myself.

  "Did Pertinax?" I bellowed, to harass him. In fact I knew who had.

  "No." His reply was low.

  "But you killed him!"

  "Don't be ridiculous I saw him begin to resist. "Falco, your own meddling killed my daughter"

  It was Helena who interrupted fiercely, suddenly joining me: "Don't blame the buffoon for the whole pantomime!"

  "Domitian killed your daughter." Sparkling with malice I weighed in for myself. "You know that very well. You may have been horrified I do believe you were but you could say nothing about it because that would incriminate you. Domitian killed her. His initials are on the inkwell you saw me find in the saffron vault. Domitian killed her; my guess is he was there alone. He acted in haste when he realized she must recognize his famous face. Someone him? you? Atius Pertinax? carried her body from the vault up here, probably not expecting the Aventine watch to appear; the Aventine watch and me " I heard a catch in my own voice.

  "Marcus!" Helena exclaimed.

  I knew then for absolute certain, he had lied to me. Helena Justina was never in the plot.

  My eyes went to her.

  Publius had begun to move.

  "Who found that bracelet?" It had him mesmerized; his advantage was already thrown away.

  "I did, uncle!" He was stopped by Helena herself. "I found it today in your house. Oh Juno, you make me so angry! You think other people are completely insensitive! You kidnapped Sosia; your name was in the letter Uncle Gaius wrote to Vespasian. Today I watched you calmly stand here and let me blame papa papa who has spent twenty dreary years covering up your disgrace! My aunt Aelia Camilla told me the truth your wild youth in Bithynia, that was too wild and went on far too long to be simple exuberance! Your public career in Mauretania that ended so abruptly for reasons that were never explained! Exiled from one province after another, and now from Rome! Political speculation, social scandal, riot, shady business deals, women Sosia! Her mother the wife of a consul-designate, the husband so inconveniently abroad; you would rather the child had been exposed on a midden but as always, father decently stepped in. Father's life has been a misery you even inveigled him into marrying me to a man he disliked so you could persuade Pertinax to help import the silver!" I had heard her rant before, but never with the passion she was demonstrating now. "You think nobody can know"

  "Even Sosia knew," I slipped in. "Your name is on the list she gave to me. Condemned to a common informer, Meto by your own child!" I saw no reason to tell him that Sosia scratched his name out.

  He looked from Helena Justina to me, then laughed softly as he had never done before. It showed that momentary handsomeness I had noticed before at Sosia's funeral; I could see how when he wanted to bother he must have drawn the women.

  "Excellent team!" he applauded us. It was true. That was what we had always been. In this case we had formed a true partnership. We were fighting him together now. "Made for the middle rank," he scoffed. "Not for me. Life with a high moral tone, and so little else! Trapped among third-grade tax collectors, freed Imperial secretaries, the Admiral of the British Channel Fleet! Hard work on a mean salary or struggling in trade. No ceremony abroad, no style or power at home"

  If this was his social grievance, it was not one that impressed me. I growled at him, with the full venom of a tired man from an Aventine tenement, "You never lacked; you had comfort and leisure all your life. What do you want?"

  "Luxury and influence!" he admitted without flinching.

  Helena Justina suddenly stood up. Her voice rang clear.

  "Then take the silver. Let it be my gift for my poor beleaguered father. Take it. Go away and never trouble him or any of us again."

  It was a brave gamble and I understood now what my clear principled lady had earlier been trying to achieve. Like her father, she was trying to salvage her uncle's reputation, even on his terms. She was swamped in a tangle of family loyalties beside which the petty wrangling of my own relations seemed positively jolly.

  "Your conscience-racked father has nothing left for me " Publius began.

  It was a decoy. At the same moment, both he and I swung forwards towards the spot where Helena Justina helplessly stood. She knew she was in danger. He saw me anticipate and sprang instead for his sword. I saw him change course and zig zagged after him.

  LXIII

  Almost as soon as I launched at him I realized he could fight. In some shady part of the Empire he had learned tricks a middle class gentleman ought not to know. Fortunately for me I was not middle class.

  The fight was vicious, worsened because Meto was the type who believed it distracted his opponent to snarl a great deal and to clash weapons whenever he could, whether the blow he was landing served any purpose or not. I didn't mind that. I was soon making noises myself as we gasped through the aisles of pepper and spice, hitting barrels and bales until we were both straining for breath. I was glad Helena Justina had the sense to keep out of the way.

  I fought the senator's wayward younger brother up and down in that gloomy scented place for half an hour. As we crushed the rich contents of Helena's heirloom under our scrabbling feet our eyes streamed. Publius must have been approaching fifty, but he possessed the family height. His expressionless demeanour made him unnerving; there was nothing to work on, nothing to play off, no automatic responses I could tickle along, then delude.

  He had the better weapon with a longer reach, though that was the least of my worries; I had practised this combination for years with Glaucus at the gym. Meto had practised too, however. Wherever he had trained, they believed in shearing hamstrings and prodding thumbs in eyes. At least I had prepared myself to keep him at a distance by lashing out with my unfurled belt, then, when he battered in too close, winding it round my forearm like a gladiator to ward off his lunging blade.

  He was fit. I was tired. We had pounded up past Helena for the third time, with me avoiding the danger of meeting her anxious eyes. I knew I must appear to be struggling quite a normal sight in her view then her uncle relaxed, my concentration flickered and suddenly he knocked up the dagger from my hand. I sprawled frantically after it, throwing myself headlong, then spidering sideways with grit spiking my palms and knees as I fell at full stretch onto my knife.

  I was still on the floor, flat out, ready to roll over with my arm up, but knowing it was probably too late. Helena Justina had been standing so still we were both forgetting her. Her uncle came running with his sword high, letting out a terrifying screech. As he rushed, even though
she was bound, Helena flung all her weight against a barrel I had at one point pushed her behind. The keg toppled. Its contents gushed out, bouncing and skid addling for yards across the hard-baked warehouse floor.

  No time to thank her. I got one knee under me and pushed myself to my feet. Splaylegged, I swarmed across the stricken keg. Meto exclaimed. He faltered as the tiny iron-hard balls beneath the tender arches of his well-kept feet rocked him over on his insteps. My own horny pads wore boots with triple soles a good inch thick. I kicked out to scatter the nutmegs as I scrambled forwards, then before he could recover I ducked under his guard and smashed the pommel of my knife against his wrist. He dropped the sword. To make sure, I barged him with my shoulder away from it.

  Helena Justina immediately captured the sword.

  "Stay!" The bastard moved. "Over!" I choked. "Don't move. It's all over"

  "Not bad," he gasped, "for a… tousled tyke from the Subura slums!"

  "Nothing to lose don't move!" I knew the type. This one was going to give me trouble right to the slamming of the door to the cells. "Don't push me, Camillus!"

  Helena demanded quickly, "Falco, what now?"

  The Palace. Vespasian can decide."

  "Falco, you're a fool!" Publius exclaimed. "Share the silver with me; the spices too, and the girl, Falco -"

  I was angry then. Once he had disposed of her to suit his own low purposes, when he had married her to Pertinax. Never again.

  "Your nice niece has terrible taste but not as terrible as that! The play's over. The Aventine watch are blocking the Ostia Road searching everything that moves there from a grandmother's shopping basket to a camel's hump. Petronius Longus won't miss an illegal waggon train. That silver's your death warrant"

  "You're lying, Falco!"

  "Don't judge me by your standards. It's time to go."

  Sosia's father and he was Sosia's father; I think he knew I could never forget that made me a wry gesture, open palmed, like a gladiator who has lost his arms acknowledging defeat.

  "Let me choose my own way."

  "What," I scoffed, "death with that high moral tone you so despised in life? A middle class traitor too honourable to hang?"

  "Oh Marcus Helena murmured. And at that moment I first heard the great door creak. "Allow a man his civic rights," she begged. "Give him the chance; see what he makes of it. Let me give him the sword She had done it before I could stop her, that fine clear-eyed face open as day. Of course he had it at her precious throat at once.

  Camillus Meto had no more honour than a stinging nettle and the lass had brushed too close. He scrunched one hand deep into the soft body of her hair, flinging Helena to her knees. She took on a grey look. One move from either of us and he would slice her like a smoked Spanish ham.

  I ordered him steadily, "Let her go as I tried to keep his eye.

  "Oh Falco! Your real weak point!"

  "No, sir my strength."

  Helena did not struggle or speak; her eyes were scorching me. I took a step.

  "No closer!"

  He was standing between me and the door. It gave him the best light, but I had the best view.

  "Behind you, Camillus!"

  "Oh gods!" he sneered. "Not that world-worn trick!"

  I raised my voice: "Partner! You took your time!"

  Helena cried out as her uncle hurt her, twisting her hair in a merciless grip that was aimed to distress me. That was his mistake. I was keeping my eyes on him, because of Helena, but at the end he heard the furious footfalls rush.

  He began to turn. I shouted: "Yours!"

  Then Publius moved; I leapt, and spun Helena away.

  I buried her face, turning her, forcing her head down against my chest.

  Before it was over she stopped struggling; she understood. I released her very gently, then held her close while I cut the ropes binding her, before I let her look.

  Her uncle was dead. Beside him, in a pool of blood a sword: not his own. Beside that, his executioner.

  The senator Decimus Camillus knelt on the ground. For a moment his eyes were closed tight. Without glancing up he asked me dazedly, in the voice he used when we were cronies at Glaucus' gym, "What does your trainer tell us, Marcus? To kill a man with a sword takes strength, speed and a real desire to see him dead!" That was indeed what honest Glaucus generally said. It had been a good strong blow with his whole heart behind it, but I would never tell him that. "Oh my brother, Hail and Farewell!"

  Still holding his daughter with one arm, I approached and offered the other to bring him to his feet. Still clinging to me, Helena fell on his neck. I embraced them both together. For that moment we three were equal, sharing our deep relief and pain.

  We were still standing together when the Praetorians arrived. Petronius Longus appeared in the doorway, pale as milk. Behind him I heard the trundle of the waggons being returned.

  There seemed to be a lot of noise. People of rank took charge, things became confused. Men who had played no obvious part in the afternoon's events congratulated themselves on their handling of the affair. I walked slowly outside, feeling my eye sockets as hollow in my face as an actor's mask.

  The warehouse was being sealed, with the body still inside. The yard gate was being chained. Decimus was escorted off to explain at the Palace; I watched his daughter being led to a sedan chair. We did not speak. The Praetorians knew an informer even the Emperor's informer has no business with the daughter of a senator. Meto had gashed me; she had my blood on her face. She wanted me, I knew she did. She was bruised, she was shocked, I could see that she was shaking; yet I could not go to her.

  If she had made the slightest sign I would have pushed all the Praetorians aside. She never did. I stood at a loss. The Guards were taking her home.

  It was night. Rome simmered with bad deeds and unholy cries. An owl shrieked above the Capitol. I heard the mean lilt of a sad flute piercing the city streets with man's injustice to woman, and the gods' injustice to men.

  Petronius Longus stood at my shoulder without speaking a word. And we both knew, the case of the silver pigs was effectively closed.

  LXIV

  This was Rome; there were formalities.

  That same night, while Vespasian entertained the favoured and fortunate at his own banquet in the Palace and all Rome dined by families and voting tribes elsewhere, I was hauled up to the Palatine for an interview with his son. Titus Caesar, famous for his graciousness, congratulated Camillus Verus, Petronius Longus, me. The senator was too deeply shocked to object. Helena Justina stood in silence beside her mother, both heavily veiled. Even so, Helena was as morose as a dead jellyfish, I could tell.

  Speciality of the day was intended to be granting M Didius Falco the gold ring: four hundred thousand sesterces and promotion to the middle rank. A generous gesture from a young Caesar who liked to do good deeds.

  M Didius Falco, famous for ungracious behaviour, lived up to his reputation with careless ease. I thought of what it meant not simply the land and the rank, but the kind of life they enabled me to live. Like Flavius Hilaris, ploughing a useful furrow in his own way so passionately and enjoying quiet, comfortable houses with a wife he dearly loved; the life of my choice among people I liked, where I knew I could do well.

  Then I remembered Sosia. Sosia who was dead, and now had not even her father to ask the gods to treat her tenderly. I announced to Titus Caesar: "So that's your contract bonus! Keep it, Caesar. I never earned it; I was hired to expose the man who murdered Sosia Camillina -"

  With the cheers of all Rome still ringing in his ears, Titus was in a bonny mood that day, but still capable of wincing a little at me. There were few officials present, but I had done him the favour of not specifying Domitian by name. It was not a name I ever wished to speak.

  "Didius Falco, Vespasian has personally closed that account!" Titus observed carefully.

  "In my ledger it will never be closed," I answered the metaphor coldly.

  "Probably not! I understand that. Believe
me, we all mourn for that sad girl. Falco, try to be understanding in return. Rome, now, needs to believe in its first family. Emperors must make their own rules"

  That, sir, is why I am a republican!"

  I was aware of shocked movements, though Titus himself did not stir. He gazed at me thoughtfully, then appealed to the senator. With an effort, plainly caused by grief and exhaustion rather than any antipathy to me, Decimus attempted: "Marcus, for my daughter's sake"

  But I told the senator bluntly that his fine-spirited daughter deserved better than a bumped up, bought off, newly bribed to-silence audit clerk.

  He took it fairly well. He probably agreed; I'll guarantee his wife did. If that had not been his own opinion when I started to insult him, it ought to be now. To complete the process I snarled at the finish, "Senator, don't let your judgement be warped by one heady moment!" Then I turned.

  I walked straight to his daughter, in the public audience room. Thank the gods she was veiled. I could not have done it if I had had to see her face.

  "Ladyship, you know how it is: every case a girl, new case, new girl! All the same, I brought you home a souvenir to turn your finger green: Ex Argentiis Britanniae. The grateful gift of a lead mine slave."

  I had given Helena Justina a silver ring. There would be no other opportunity to see her, so I had fetched it from the silversmith tonight. Engraved inside was one of those cheap jewellers' mottoes that mean nothing or everything depending on your mood: Anima Mea…

  I knew I was hopeless. I rejected her in public then laid this burden on her solitude. It was not my fault. The smith had had no instructions, so he put whatever he felt like; once I had seen it I could not bring myself to have it changed.

  And after all, the motto was true: Anima Mea, My Soul.