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  'I can deal with it.'

  "The oldest lie in the world, Lalage! History is littered with the corpses of fools who gurgled, "I'm different. I can keep out of the way!" Or have you bought him off?' I was angry as the thought struck me. 'One of the vigiles has been murdered too. Are you responsible for that? Did you betray Linus?'

  'I've never even heard of him.' She spoke calmly. I yearned to believe her.

  'Have you seen Balbinus recently?'

  'No.'

  'He must need a bolt hole. Has he asked to hide up here?'

  'That again! Don't make me laugh, Falco.'

  'What about his men? Little Icarus and the Miller? Do you let them come here?'

  'I told you, they're barred, the lot of them.'

  'And none of the old gang have been in touch with you? What about Balbinus himself?'

  'No.' It sounded like a lie. I watched her notice me thinking that. 'Balbinus is a shark.' Her voice was hard. 'Believe me, Falco, he knows that he's met his match in me. I'm stronger than him, and if he wants to survive in Rome he'd better leave me alone. What – an exile who has returned in secret? He's a fool. He doesn't stand a chance.' She was talking too much now. This was not like Lalage. She still had the wide-open gaze of a whore who was lying. The trouble with whores is they look like that all the time, even when spouting truths like vestal virgins.

  'And what about Nonnius? How in Hades did you know he saw through Alexander's tale?'

  'Alexander is the doctor?'

  'Was.'

  'Oh, was! Failed to diagnose his own condition, didn't he? Well I know, Falco, because the whole thing was arranged by Nonnius and me. Don't worry your little head with the details, but when Petronius sent his man with the fake story, Nonnius didn't believe him. He wasn't stupid. He could tell he wasn't ill.'

  'So he made enquiries and found out that the doctor who was saying he was dying had a brother in the watch?'

  'He was a rent-collector, Falco. He could easily add up! He told me about it. He was just laughing at first because the whole idea seemed ridiculous, but I saw how we could use it. We wanted to be rid of Balbinus. I was after sole charge of the brothel, and Nonnius intended to run all the rest. We planned it together.'

  'Nonnius called Alexander back?'

  'He had a lot of fun pretending to be terrified, and then convinced your friend the way was clear to clean up Rome.'

  'What about the dead Lycian?'

  'He was killed here at Plato's.'

  'I know that.' I was thinking fast. She had to be telling me that the Lycian's murder was deliberate. 'It was a fix? The weasel who did the stabbing was sent in purposely?'

  'No, Castus didn't need encouraging. He was a Balbinus plant. He used to hang around here and report back how things were. I didn't tell him anything; I knew how he would react if we could get a fight going. The girl was in on it, though. I didn't want her telling Castus to calm down when the row flared up.'

  'They still work here?'

  'Only the girl.'

  She was horribly calm. She and Nonnius actually had the Lycian traveller killed so the watch could discover it 'by accident', and so that they could provide evidence which Lalage could be 'coerced' into giving in court.

  I realised Lalage would never admit this formally, and hearing it today could prove fatal for me. The mood had become dangerous. I was deep within this place. No one knew I was here. If she decided to have me killed like the Lycian, I would be seriously stuck. I tried changing the subject. 'Once Balbinus was supposed to have sailed away, was it Nonnius who organised the Emporium raid?'

  'I've no idea. Once the court case was over, I didn't want to know anything about the street-gang side.'

  'Really? I wondered whether you and Nonnius had been scheming together because you were having an affair?'

  Genuine amusement rocked her. 'Only a man would imagine women conduct their businesses on the basis of love.'

  'You were no admirer of Nonnius?'

  'No.' She did not bother to insult him.

  'You told me once you hated him – and yet now you say you conspired together over the court case.'

  'So? I loathed him, but I could still use him.'

  'You've told a lot of lies. Why suddenly start telling the truth about Nonnius?'

  'Because he's dead. As soon at I heard that, I guessed Balbinus had returned. You should have known too,' she taunted.

  'We thought Flaccida murdered Nonnius.'

  'Oh I bet she had a hand in it. The word on the streets is that it happened in her house. They say she was there gloating. They say she herself rammed that pot on his head.'

  'A spirited witch!' My lip curled. 'Is Balbinus at the house?'

  'I doubt it. He's not stupid. That's the first place the vigiles will look.' She clearly meant they were stupid, or at least predictable.

  'Well, thanks for all this. It's good of you to co-operate.'

  'If you hadn't realised Balbinus was here in Rome, I was going to tell you myself.'

  She had not done so, though.

  I stood up. For a moment I half expected her to prevent me leaving. I was guarding against an attack, and this time not the erotic sort.

  'You frightened of something, Falco?' She understood men. It was her trade.

  'No, but you should be. Balbinus is back. You helped get him condemned. He'll be looking for you.'

  'Oh, I don't think I need to worry!' She definitely meant it. I was wondering why. She rose, graciously acknowledging my departure as she supplied one possible reason in a scornful tone: 'Balbinus won't be in Rome for long.' The smile she gave me was the sweetest available in her wide repertoire – as dangerous as a draught of aconite. 'Balbinus won't even be alive, will he? Not now you're looking for the man!'

  I told her there was no need to be sarcastic, then I saluted the lady respectfully and took my leave.

  Nonnius had hoped to take over the crime empire, but Nonnius was dead. I wondered who Lalage imagined would step in once Balbinus was settled for good. I wondered who she hoped to see running things then.

  She was competent and ambitious. And Lalage, as I knew from many years ago, had always been a very clever girl.

  LIII

  There was no chance that Petronius would welcome me with almond cakes if I came with my new information. Hearing that his ploy had been seen through by Nonnius would only make him flare up again. What was the point of harassing him? He knew Balbinus was back; he could work out for himself his own personal danger. All I had learned for certain was some unpleasant background relating to the court case. Lalage had implied she had some mysterious hold over Balbinus, but it could be bluff. If not, it was still too nebulous to be useful.

  Nonetheless I felt I had gained a better grip on the situation. The main thing now was to find Balbinus Pius. I decided to risk my neck and tackle Flaccida. Too late: when I reached her house at the other end of the Circus, the vigiles were already there. I must have spent longer in the brothel than I realised. (Not the first man to be in that predicament.) The funeral of Linus was over now. Petronius had obviously come straight from it, with barely time for the ritual purification, in order to lead a search party at the Balbinus house.

  Flaccida was standing white-faced and rigid in the street, surrounded by the few slaves she had been left for personal use. No one had been arrested, but members of the foot patrol were strategically placed so that interested passers-by (of whom there were many) were being held back away from her. Despite precautions, Flaccida must have managed to send word to her daughter because while I was there Milvia came scuttling up looking flustered. She was promptly corralled with her mother. Her house would be the next target.

  I also reckoned Balbinus would not be found in either mansion. Petronius presumably knew that too, for I could see him leaning casually in a portico with his arms folded. When he looked over and spotted me, I made sure I was sitting against a wall chewing my thumb in a similarly relaxed pose. I heard him give an order to have the st
reet cleared of gawkers, so I left of my own accord.

  It would be easy to let this situation deteriorate until it became even more personal. Searching for Balbinus was already feeling like some grim competition between Petro and me. That could be an advantage if it sharpened us up. But it was equally likely to jeopardise our hopes of capturing the criminal.

  I went to see Marcus Rubella.

  'There's been a development. Petronius has declared me out of bounds at the patrol house, and he refuses to communicate.'

  'I was warned that having you two together would mean trouble.' That sounded as if it came from our old centurion, Stollicus.

  'That's rubbish!' I retorted irritably.

  Rubella was watering his inkwell and scraping the innards with a stick – the usual useless procedure for trying to get a decent mix. He possessed a fancy desk set: silver inkpot, stylus rack, sand tray, nib knife and sealing-wax lamp. It looked like a gift. Maybe somebody was fond of him. It wasn't me.

  'Do you want to be taken off the enquiry, Falco?' He knew this had thrown me. 'Are you prepared to tell Titus you're ditching it?' This was a vicious man. Sympathetic staff management was not in his armoury.

  'I can't afford that. I need his goodwill. I came to see you because I hoped you might be able to mediate.'

  Rubella looked at me as though I was a cockroach crawling up his favourite stool. 'Mediate?'

  'Sorry. Did I slip into a rare Etruscan dialect? Try arbitrate.'

  'You're asking me to calm Petronius Longus down?'

  'Subtle.'

  'Fly off a crag, Falco.'

  'No use?'

  'I value life too dearly.'

  'You won't try.'

  'He's your old tentmate.'

  'I don't find him in a nostalgic mood, unfortunately. Well it seems I'll be acting alone.' That was what I had wanted, though not this way. I told Rubella what I had learned from Lalage; he thanked me, in his dry manner, for handing him the task of telling Petro how Nonnius Albius had played with him. 'Rubella, since Petronius won't be using my valuable talents, I'm available to take instructions directly from you.'

  'I like a man who co-operates. Well now, what nugget can I find for you? Petronius is in charge of finding Balbinus.'

  'I can help with that.'

  'No. I don't want your paths crossing until your feud is worked out.'

  'I'll keep out of his way.'

  'Yes.' Rubella gave me his slow, untrustworthy smile. 'That's best.' He meant, he was making sure of it. 'As I said, Petronius is looking for the escapee. What I'd like you to take on is tracing the goods stolen flow the Saepta and the Emporium.' Before I could protest at this menial role, he added smoothly, 'Following up the raids may be another way to find a trail to Balbinus. Besides, you have connections in the fine-art world. You seem ideal for this job – much better than anyone on my own staff.'

  Always a sucker for personal flattery, I heard myself agree to it. 'Do I get men to assist?'

  Rubella flattened the stubs of his close haircut with one hand; it must have felt like abrading his palm with pumice stone. 'I don't see that you'll need any initially. If you are on to something, come straight to me for backup.'

  I had heard that before. I knew I would be searching for the stolen goods on my own. If I found them, I would be a solitary hero timidly approaching whichever giant was hoarding them and asking if he could please hand them over and explain himself… I started planning further visits for exercise at my local gymnasium.

  I was ready to leave when the tribune raised his chin more than usual. 'Do I take it that you are still pursuing the request to identify corrupt officers?'

  'Certainly. I'm looking all the time.'

  'That's interesting. You report to me on that, I think.'

  'What are you getting at?'

  'Linus was an unfortunate loss. I've been at the funeral; I noticed you didn't go to it…' I let that ride. 'I've been waiting,' said Rubella, with an insinuating sneer, 'for you to tell me that there must be a maggot in the Fourth Cohort's enquiry team.'

  I managed to keep my voice quiet, though I may have flushed. 'I thought you suspected a maggot all along. I thought that was why Titus brought me in!' We clashed eye to eye. Neither achieved supremacy. The sooner I stopped working with Marcus Rubella, the happier I would be. 'Petronius Longus will be reporting on the traitor who betrayed Linus when we have discovered who it is.'

  'You told him there was a traitor?'

  Not even I as Petro's close friend could pretend that Petro had been aware of it. 'It seemed best for me to warn him that he needs to be careful whom he trusts, so I did discuss the subject with him last night before we parted company.'

  'I suppose that's why you quarrelled?' The reason was between the two of us. Rubella glared. 'He and I have also spoken.' Relief. Petro had faced the issue. Petro had even come clean with his tribune. I wondered whether he had asked for an interview of his own accord, or whether Rubella – who was undeniably sharp in his dour way – had realised there had been an error and had insisted they discuss what had gone wrong. 'No thoughts on it?' Rubella tried.

  I was not inclined to share them. 'I'm standing back. Petronius Longus wants to sort it out internally.' I knew that without having any contact with him.

  'I have agreed his approach. He'll review events surrounding the failed attempt to send Balbinus into vale. Then he'll interview the entire team individually.' For a moment I experienced the odd feeling that whatever Petro or I said to Rubella would make its way to the other. It was like conversing through an intermediary to save face. Maybe the damned tribune understood men after all. Maybe he could arbitrate.

  'Keep me informed,' he concluded, as if confirming it.

  Then the hypocrite wished me luck (hoping I would fall flat on my face of course) and I took myself off to apply my special gifts to the world of stolen luxuries.

  Rubella had given me the lists of stolen property. I had a quick glance at the endless details of six-foot-high Etruscan terracotta stands and bowls, ancient Athenian red-figure, gilt and jewellery, porphyry and ivory. Then, to deal with two commissions at once, I started with the piece I knew: Papa's glass jug.

  There was one character involved in this saga whom nobody else seemed to be considering. So I pulled my cloak around my shoulders and decided to meet Florius.

  I had to find him first.

  LIV

  My brother-in-law Famia, Maia's treasure, prided himself on being a man with contacts. It was rubbish. Famia's contacts were one-legged jockeys and liniment-sellers who drank too much. He was a vet, working for the Greens. Their pathetic choice of horse doctor may account for the fact that as a chariot team they stink.

  Famia was no stranger to flagons of non-vintage grape juice himself. He had a florid face with puffy eyes. Maia fed him well and tried to keep him neat, but it was hard work. He favoured a long tunic the colour of estuary mud, over which went a filthy leather apron and a belt from which hung curious tools, some of which he had devised himself. I had never seen him use a single one of them on a sick animal.

  I found him sitting on a barrel at the stables, talking to some visitors. A lame horse waited patiently. It appeared to know it stood no chance of attention this week if it had to depend on Famia. Hung on the wall behind it was an impressive selection of harness rings and roundels, blacksmiths' hammers and pliers, and hippo shoes.

  'What ho, Falco! I hear you slipped up with your fancy piece?'

  'If that's a coarse reference to my impending fatherhood – '

  'Don't be stupid. I presume Helena will be getting rid of it.'

  'That so? I like to be kept up to date, Famia. Thanks for telling me!'

  'Well, that's the impression Maia gave me anyway.' Realising he was likely to get thumped, he sniffed and backed off. Famia simply could not believe that a senator's daughter would carry an informer's child. I had long given up any attempt to hack a path through the dark undergrowth of his social prejudice. He wasn't worth trying
to talk to sensibly.

  The bastard had upset me. No use denying it.

  It was too much to hope Famia knew Florins, but since Florins was a gambling man Famia must know someone else who did. Prising the information out of him gave me indigestion for the rest of the day. He enjoyed being difficult.

  It took me most of the afternoon. A long stream of undesirable characters whom Famia had suggested I consult finally ended with a snooty ex-charioteer who kept a training stable near the Plain of Mars. His office was full of the silver crowns he had won when he himself raced, but somehow lacked the odour of real money that I associate with retired champions, most of whom are nearly millionaires. Famia had hinted darkly there was some scandal attached to him, though needless to say he then sent me in there without saying what. Maybe the fellow tried to diddle on the slave tax when he bought his drivers, and had been found out. Many a hopeful setting up a new business assumes the fiscal rules don't apply to him. Catching them out works wonders for the Treasury's income from fines.

  One reason it was so difficult to trace Florius was that it turned out he supported the Whites. 'The Whites?' I was incredulous. No wonder he was elusive. Nobody in Rome supports the Whites. Even the Reds are less unpopular. A man who supported the Whites could well wish to remain invisible.

  The ex-charioteer thought he might be seeing Florius Later. Naturally he viewed me with suspicion. People never entertain the thought that an informer might be tracing folk for a good reason, such as to bring them news of an unexpected legacy. I was interpreted as trouble. It was quite likely Florius would be warned of my visit and advised to avoid me. Determined to better him, I pretended to go along with it, said I'd call back in an hour, and concealed myself in a wine bar to await developments. At least I got a drink.

  The racing snob went out in his cloak almost immediately. I gulped down my tipple and followed him. He met Florius at the Pantheon, obviously a regular rendezvous. I stood back, but neither was keeping watch for trouble. Shading my eyes against the glitter of the gold tiles on the domed toof, I observed them without them even once looking in my direction. They had a short chat together, fairly unexciting and perhaps even routine business, then the charioteer strolled off again. Florius sat among the forest of columns in Agrippa's confrontational portico. He appeared to be working out figures on a note tablet. I walked across the open area in front of the temple, then slid up to talk to him.