Time to Depart mdf-7 Page 26

  But I would still have to tell him.

  'What's up, Falco?' Petro's voice was quick and light.

  'You won't like this.'

  'Can things get worse?'

  'A lot worse. Tell me, do all members of the vigiles carry identity tags?'

  He stared, then took from a pouch on his belt a small bone counter, exactly like the one from Ostia. He let me examine it. On the face was the symbol COH IV, surrounded by ROMA and PREF VIG. On the reverse, being a neat, systematic character, Petro had scratched in full his three names.

  'You don't wear it?'

  'Some do. I don't like cords around my neck – villains can grab at them and throttle you.' Well he was right about that.

  I gave him back his tag. Then I took from my tunic the other disc, handing it over in silence. By then he was expecting sorrow. His face had set into melancholy hollows. He turned the bone and read the name:

  LINUS.

  Petronius sat on one of the delicate couches, leaning fowards, knees apart, hands clasped between them, holding the disc. I told him what had happened, as far as the customs force had worked it out. When I finished I walked over to a folding door and stood staring out at a garden while Petro absorbed the facts and tried to cope.

  'This is my fault.'

  I had known he would say that. It was nobody's fault, but taking the blame was the only way Petronius could handle his grief.

  'You know that's wrong.'

  'How can I get them, Falco?'

  'I don't know. Look, we can't even start yet; there have to be formalities. Rubella is going to write a letter of sympathy to the relations, but you know what that will sound like.' We had both seen how officialdom informs bereaved families of death.

  'Oh dear gods! That isn't any good.' Petronius roused himself. I have to go. I'll have to tell his wife.'

  'I'll come with you,' I said. I hardly knew Linus, but I had met him once and even the brief memory affected me. I was involved.

  Petro made no move yet. He was still struggling. 'I'm trying not to think about what this means.'

  He spoke the name on the tablet he was cradling so gently. Linus. Linus, the young, keen undercover man whom Petro had placed on the ship that had supposedly taken the condemned criminal Balbinus into exile.

  The death of Linus at Ostia must strongly imply that Balbinus Pius never went. In reality the ship must have dropped off passengers at the harbour mouth. Either then, or very shortly afterwards, Petro's agent was dead.

  IL

  Normally I liked widows. They are women of the world, often without guardians, and frequently adventurous. This one was different. She did not know she was a widow yet.

  Her name was Rufina. She admitted us both with a hint of a simper, then offered us wine, which we refused.

  'Greetings, chief!'

  Rufina looked about thirty-five, at any rate older than Linus. She dressed smartly, though her jewellery consisted merely of coloured beads strung on wires. There was no spare meat on her. She was not as pretty as she tried to act. Her manner was brash and ingratiating in a way I could only just tolerate, given what I knew.

  'This is about time, I must say. I hoped you would be dropping in sometime. He's famous for being conscientious,' she giggled at me. I felt ill. She crossed her knees, showing ankles and toes beneath the hem of her gown. 'Have you brought me news of my husband?' Things were already unbearable. She managed to make the reference to having a husband seem even more saucy than the previous comment about Petro calling on her while Linus was away.

  Petronius closed his eyes briefly. 'Yes.'

  I glanced around. Linus and Rufina lived in a third-floor back-of-building apartment that appeared to have just two rooms. They had made no attempt to redecorate what came with their lease; the usual landlord's dirty plasterwork, ornamented with half-hearted scrolls of red carried out by a painter who had two patterns and could only do one of those properly. With relief I realised there was no evidence of children in the house.

  The furniture was sparse. There was a loom in one corner. Rufina was a home-worker, though the state of the weaving – with an untidy straggle of wools in a basket on the floor and loose loom weights scattered everywhere – suggested she approached it lethargically. From a wall niche two household gods, the beares and penates, dominated the room. The dancing figures were in bronze with a very dark patina, rather heavier and more ornate than the rest of their owners' lifestyle called for.

  'It's very naughty of you to take Linus from me for months, you know.'

  Petromus said nothing.

  Doubt fluttered across Rufina's face. 'What are you telling me, chief?' She was a vigiles wife. She must have spent most of her married life half-prepared for an official visit of this kind.

  When Petronius told her what had happened she screamed so loudly we heard doors of other apartments opening in the outside corridor. At first she pretended she would not believe it, then, amid racking sobs and wild exclamations, she launched into the vilification that Petronius had dreaded.

  'You should never have made him do it!'

  'Linus volunteered.'

  Rufina howled. 'He was afraid of you!'

  It seemed more likely he was afraid of his own home life. I could vaguely remember Linus suggesting he had wanted to leave Italy for some peace. It seemed to me things could have been worse. Still, in relationships small habits can soon multiply into monumental grievances. 'He wanted the adventure,' Petronius told the wife patiently. I could see he was badly shaken by the violence of Rufina's hysteria. 'He was eager to travel.' Not that he managed it.

  'Oh Linus; Linus! Oh my darling! Whatever am I going to do?'

  'The cohort is ready to support you all it can. The tribune will be writing you a letter -'

  'Will I get compensation?'

  That was better. It came out smart as a crack of artillery. Petro could deal with that. 'I believe there will be a modest award, enough to give you a small pension. Linus was a good officer killed in the state's service – '

  'Small!'

  'Of course nothing can really replace him.'

  'Small, you say! He deserved better. I deserve better for acting as his only solace while he did his cruel job!'

  'We all deserved better than to lose Linus.'

  We were achieving little, and as soon as it seemed decent we prepared to leave. Rufina then thought of more embarrassment to hurl at us: 'Where is he now?'

  'Not in Rome yet,' Petronius rapped back swiftly. He had gone very pale. 'You don't want to see him. Rufina, don't try!'

  'He's my husband! I want to hold him in my arms one final time. I want to know what they did to him -'

  Petronius Longus raised his voice so harshly he stopped her. 'Remember Linus as he was! What they are bringing to Rome is a six-day-old corpse that has been lying in the open. It's not him, Rufina. It's not your husband; it's not the friend and comrade who served under me.'

  'How do I know it is really Linus then? There might have been a mistake.'

  I put in weakly: 'Petronius Longus will ensure there has been no mistake. Don't upset yourself on that point. He will do what is needed; you can rely on him.'

  That was when the widow suddenly crumpled up. With a small gurgle of pathetic grief she fell into Petro's arms and sobbed. She was taller than the girls he liked comforting, older, and her nature was much harder. But he never flinched, and he held her firmly while she wept. I managed to find a neighbour to take over, then we slunk away.

  When the carter brought the body to the Ostia Gate, Petro and I were there waiting for it. The customs people had found an undertaker to provide a lidded coffin; Linus came home sealed in state like some general who had died on an intercontinental campaign. But before we passed him on to the funeral arrangers we had brought to the gate with us, my friend Lucius Petronius wrapped a scarf around his face, then insisted that the coffin lid be raised so he could identify his man formally.

  As Petronius had warned Rufina, after six days
in the sun and salty air this body bore little resemblance to his bright, cheerful, fearless volunteer. The corpse was wearing the sailor's disguise we recognised. It was the right build. The features looked correct. Taken with the identification-tag evidence, we accepted that this was Linus.

  Balbinus had taken a stupid risk. He must have been so eager to regain land that he couldn't wait until the Aphrodite left the coastal shallows and found deeper waters where a corpse could be safely pushed overboard and lost. So he brought Linus back to land with him. Someone – the freedmen we had seen leave with him, perhaps – must have helped. Then Balbinus or others had killed Linus, and abandoned his body in a casual manner that was unbelievably arrogant.

  I stayed alongside Petronius while he grieved, then I dealt with transferring the coffin. When the grumbling Ostian carter had removed his vehicle and the coflin had been carried away by officers of the vigiles' funeral club, we two walked back from the Ostia Gate. Once in our nostrils, the smell of putrefaction stayed cloyingly with us. In silence we found our way to the riverbank.

  It was now dark. We had the complicated mass of buildings forming the granary area and the Emporium complex on our left, and the Probus Bridge along on the right, lit by dim lamps. Occasional figures crossed the bridge. We could hear the Tiber shifting, with splashes that could be fish or rats. Across the water, donkey hooves sounded sharply on a road in the Transtiberina. A breeze made us bury our chins deeply in our cloaks, though the air was humid and we were more depressed than cold.

  There was no easy way to end this night. Already I felt ominous portents of how it might turn out for me.

  'Do you want to go for a drink?'

  Petronius did not even answer me.

  I should have left him then.

  We continued to stare across the river for some time. I tried again. 'There's nothing you can do and it's not your fault.'

  This time he roused himself a little. 'I'm going to the patrol house.'

  'You're not ready for that yet.' I knew him better than he knew himself. People never want to hear that happy news.

  'I have to tell my men Linus is dead. I want them to hear it from me.'

  'Too late,' I said. 'Rumour will have rushed straight to them long ago. We've spent more hours on this than you realise. You've lost track of time. On the Aventine this is old news. The whole cohort already know.' I reckoned at least one cohott member knew about this before we did. A fact to which Lucius Petronius still seemed oblivious.

  "This is nothing to do with you, Falco. This concerns me and my men.'

  I felt the full drag of disaster now. He wanted a quarrel. He needed a bad one. It could have been anyone who caught the eruption, but I was his best friend so I was the rash man who had stayed at hand.

  'You're not ready to see them,' I told him again. 'There is a situation you have to think about carefully first.'

  'I know what needs to be done.'

  'I don't believe you do.'

  Somewhere in the remote distance we heard the trumpet. After our years in the legions our brains took it in, though we were too absorbed to react. In the Praetorian Camp a watch had changed. I could no longer tell which stretch of the night we were in now. Normally I always knew, even if I awoke from heavy sleep. Now the darkness seemed quite different, the city's noise unlike itself. Events had been moving at an unnatural pace. Emotions had blurred everything. Dawn might be several hours or merely minutes away from us.

  At my side I was aware of Petronius giving me more attention. Patiently I explained. I knew we were unlikely to stay friends.

  'This job started out as unpleasant, but it's filthy now. You have to accept that fact before you make a move, or you're going to get it wrong, Petro. There are two issues -'

  'What issues?' he burst out angrily.

  'Linus' death throws up two stinking problems.' Both seemed self-evident to me. They remained invisible to him.

  'Falco, I have a heart full of grief, there are urgent things I need to do, and it's just not clever to hold me back for some piddling irrelevancy.'

  'Listen! First, you've got the whole black business of Balbinus Pius. You can leave that one to creep up and depress you slowly if you like, but let's not delude ourselves. Linus must have been killed to stop him reporting that Balbinus came off the Aphrodite pretty well while we were waving him goodbye across the harbour. There are enormous implications: the man is still here. He never left. Balbinus is in Rome. He probably fixed the raid on the Emporium and he hit the Saepta Julia. He killed Nonnius. He killed Alexander. He killed Linus too, of course. Jove only knows what he's planning next.'

  Petronius would face it – and deal with it – but not now. He stirred restlessly. I put a hand on his arm. His skin was hot, as if his blood raced in turmoil. His voice was perfectly cold. 'What else?'

  'Balbinus knew who had to be killed. Somebody betrayed Linus.'

  He answered me at once. 'It's not possible.'

  'It happened.'

  'Nobody knew.'

  'Think how he died! His identity tag was thrust between his teeth. Some swine was making a point that his true role had been exposed. Linus himself had to face up to the fact he had been spotted. He must have died knowing he had been betrayed. You can't refuse to acknowledge it, for his sake, Petro!'

  Petronius rounded on me, full of hate. 'Do you think I would have put him in that position? We were dealing with power and money at their most vicious. If I could have hidden him on that ship without letting him even know himself that he was there I would have done! How can you suggest I gave no thought to the risks? Do you think I would send an unprotected agent on that trip without ensuring no one in Rome was in a position to let him down?'

  'Your men all knew.'

  'My men?' He was livid. 'My own team, Falco! I'm not talking cohort; I don't mean the bloody foot patrols! The only ones who knew I had sent a spy with Balbinus were my own, personally hand-picked investigation team.'

  I hated saying it, but I had to: 'I'm sorry. One of your hand-picked babies has gone wrong. One of them must be on the take.'

  He did not explode immediately. Still, I knew he was deaf to my arguments. There was nothing for it but to carry on talking quietly, as if we were having some sort of rational conversation: 'I know they're special. I see it's going to hurt. I can understand you if you say you've thought about this possibility, that you've considered it in a sensible manner and found evidence to clear them all. But a young man who didn't deserve it is dead. Somebody told Balbinus who he was. Lucius Petronius, I'm just amazed that you won't even entertain the obvious.'

  It was no good. Even years of friendship could not carry us through this. I heard his voice change; he demanded in a ghastly tone, 'You know something. What are you telling me?'

  'There's graft among the cohorts.'

  'Oh nothing new!' Petro raged at me scornfully.

  'All right. This is absolutely confidential: I'm on a special task.'

  'Another?'

  'That's right. Investigations are being planted around Rome like crocuses in an orchard. I'm under secret orders to find and label which of the vigiles are accepting hand-outs -'

  Petronius was horrified. 'You're spying on the Fourth.'

  'Oh do me a favour! I'm spying on everything that moves. There's nothing particular about the Fourth. I had hoped to leave them out of it…'

  'Not according to what you've been saying to me tonight.' That was when I knew I had really lost him. 'I should have known: informers and law officers never mix. Your motives are far too grimy. Get out of my sight, Falco.' He meant it, I knew.

  'Don't talk rot.'

  'Don't speak to me! Take your filthy suspicions somewhere else. Balbinus is mine; he always was. I'll get him. I don't need help from you. I don't want to see you at the patrol house – I don't want to find you on my path at all!'

  There was nothing else for it. I left him and went home. The Emperor might like to think he had commissioned me for a confidential investigatio
n, but Petronius Longus was the real force on the Aventine, and he had thrown me off the case.

  L

  There was very little time now. As soon as the body of Linus came home, we had lost our only advantage: that Balbinus had to lie low. Now he had much less to lose. Although he would have to remain in hiding, he could as much more freely. He faced the death penalty when we caught him, but he was so full of arrogance he probably thought he could evade capture. He was planning to rule Rome from some extravagant hiding place.

  One thing he would want to do would be to carry on his campaign of vengeance against those who had brought him to justice. There was no doubt about it. Extreme peril threatened Petronius Longus. Apart from hating him for the court case, Balbinus would know Petro would be looking for him. Recapturing the big rissole was now Petro's sole task. Preventing him must be his enemy's chief goal. That, more than anything, was why I felt there was so little time to act.

  I had had to tell Helena that I was persona non grata with the vigiles. For one thing she would soon notice me loafing at home instead of rushing out to crises. I had to explain the reason as well.

  'Oh Marcus, this is terrible. I was so afraid it would happen. Will Petronius tell his men that you have been looking for corruption?'

  'He's bound to tell his own team.'

  'That means…' Helena paused. 'The one who betrayed Linus will find out what your task is.'

  'Don't worry.'

  'It looks dangerous for you as well as for Petro.'

  'Love, this investigation was always dangerous.'

  'Are you carrying on with it?'

  'Yes.'

  'How are you going to manage if Petronius won't see you?'