Enemies at Home: Falco: The New Generation - Flavia Albia 2 Page 28

  I could not decide how serious Faustus was, so I replied stiffly. ‘I have been edging towards answers for a while.’

  I probably had been, though you never sit around thinking, Oh, I am edging towards answers here, using my admirable expertise … I had been lucky. On the other hand, controlling your luck is part of an informer’s professional toolbag. Had I been unlucky, I would have soon faded from the scene.

  ‘Who were those women, incidentally?’ Faustus asked. ‘Friends of yours?’

  ‘My drinking pals? Witnesses and suspects.’

  ‘Suspects?’

  ‘Not high on the list. Having a little nip together helped me rule them out.’

  Faustus managed not to humph.

  He left. Since he was an aedile, I trusted him to take the silver away with him. On his way down the Clivus Suburanus, he would return it to Sextus Simplicius, to be reabsorbed into the Aviola estate. Dromo went with him as escort. An aedile may be sacrosanct, but it was crazy to hope he could carry a large sack, obviously full of bullion, down a public street yet not have it snatched from his sacrosanct grasp by irreligious criminals. And then have his skull kicked in by them, for taking a stupid risk.

  As soon as Dromo came back and I had let him in, I went to bed. Clearly this was never going to happen with Manlius Faustus. Had I been sober, that thought would not even have occurred to me. Perhaps.

  For some reason, as I lay awake, I thought back to the bar where we kissed. He was just play-acting. Just as well. If I had an affair with a magistrate, what trouble that would cause! I had no idea how I would ever confess to my father, whose views on the elite were firm and frequently stated. Still, I believed Faustus would not kiss and tell, and if there is one thing loving daughters learn early, it is how to keep secrets …

  Not relevant, Flavia Albia.

  Next day I prepared to finish my case.

  Out of bed early. Stand-up wash, in cold water. There was not even the lukewarm pan that Myla used to tend in her desultory way. Dromo complained. I explained to him that now she was gone, somebody else had to do her work. He could have stirred up embers and put pots on trivets. I, however, could not because I felt queasy and should have been looked after by those whose duty was to tend to me.

  ‘You mean my master?’

  ‘Crazy caryatids! − You, Dromo!’

  ‘I thought so!’ he muttered, in my hearing, though as if to himself or the imaginary companion who shared his thoughts when he was unhappy. ‘“Being nice to Dromo” was never going to last!’

  I took him to breakfast with me, at the good bar. I even gave him most of mine, since I felt no desire for food.

  They had a canary in a cage on the counter. I refrained from ordering fried bird. It was bound to be some child’s pet. Besides, the thought of anything in oil risked what the aedile called an up-chuck.

  I could not even fantasise these days without that man worming his way in. Time for a new case, with a new client.

  From now on they would be ugly seventy-year-olds with brown eyes − and women at that.

  I took Dromo back to the Aviola apartment, telling him we would load all our things onto his handcart and take everything away with us.

  ‘Have you solved the case then, Albia?’

  ‘Not quite, but this is as far as I can go.’

  ‘Has my master said you have to finish?’

  ‘No. I set my deadlines for myself. I have to know what is realistic.’

  I left him to start packing up, while I went to say goodbye to Graecina. At my approach to their apartment, the rough dog kicked up his normal racket though when she let me in he calmed down, walking off to gnaw at a table leg.

  ‘Where is Cosmus?’ Graecina lifted an eyebrow to query why I asked. I indicated the dog.

  ‘Oh, Panther is ours. He belonged to my husband, really. Polycarpus fed him; he used to bring unwanted scraps from the master’s kitchen. Panther knew who to love.’

  ‘I thought he belonged to Cosmus.’ From things he said, Cosmus either thought that too, or he pretended. A lot of slaves have pets. The poorly-treated like to have something of their own to beat. ‘Apart from barking, which a guard dog is supposed to do, he seems obedient.’

  ‘He’s a good boy, aren’t you, Panther?’ asked Graecina in that exaggerated voice some people use for their animals. Panther wagged his tail, even though he was sitting on it. ‘He’s wonderful with children.’ I bet he gave them wonderful fleas too.

  I was working up a theory. ‘I noticed that when Panther is out in the street, you don’t have him on a lead.’

  ‘He trots back if he’s called. He had a bit of old cord for a long time—’ Graecina stopped, as she saw where I was heading. She was an intelligent woman. She looked at me in a mixture of wonder and horror. ‘Oh no.’

  A true sense of surprise was missing. Yesterday, while we were drinking and talking in the courtyard, Graecina spent a lot of time lost in her own world. She must have had doubts even then. Thinking about Panther’s lost lead confirmed her pre-existing fears. She had half-expected me to ask the question.

  She made no attempt to put me off. She went to the back of a door where a hook was nailed. It held a hat and a cloth bag for shopping, nothing else. ‘The dog’s lead used to be kept here. It was not much more than a length of raggy twine. He doesn’t have a collar; we just looped it around his neck …’ Graecina swallowed and I felt my own mouth go dry. ‘They lost it.’

  ‘They?’

  ‘Cosmus, my husband … one of them.’

  ‘Which?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I felt she did not want to say it was Polycarpus who disposed of the lead.

  Graecina sat down. She folded her hands neatly in her lap, but she was breathing too fast. This was a woman who recently lost her husband and who was scalded with hot water yesterday. One of her bare arms was so red raw it must be hurting badly. She had two small children to worry about, as well as her own grief; I could hear the son and daughter playing in the next door room. And now she had to cope with … what?

  I sat down too. At that point it was a toss of the coin whether I would end up having to tell her the answer, or she would tell me.

  ‘At one time, Graecina, I wondered if Aviola and Mucia had been killed by Polycarpus.’ At that, she let out a small squeak of misery. ‘No,’ I reassured her at once. ‘For a freedman to do that to the master who gave him his liberty is patricide – he has killed the man who gave him life, his second life, his life as a free man. And the penalty for patricide in Rome is as cruel as the crime.’

  I did not enlighten Graecina, if she did not know. A patricide is sewn into a sack, with a serpent, a cockerel, a monkey and a dog, then the sack is thrown into the sea. Do not ask me the symbolism. That’s Rome, all over.

  Whether or not Graecina knew the punishment, I wanted this woman to feel anxious. I needed to pressurise her so she told the truth.

  ‘Your husband was just protecting someone, wasn’t he?’ I asked her quietly again: ‘Graecina, where is Cosmus?’ Her eyes were wide. I guessed some duty to stay silent had been laid upon her by Polycarpus. ‘It is too late, Graecina. The charade is over. Now you have to tell the truth.’

  ‘Cosmus ran away. He does that from time to time; he comes home when he is hungry.’

  ‘He is an unhappy boy.’ As Myla once said to me.

  ‘He is. He always was, Albia, though he has been much worse lately. I never wanted him here in the first place, as Cosmus must have realised, but my husband took pity on him when the boy was younger.’

  ‘He came from the Aviola household?’

  ‘Yes. I had just had my first child and needed help domestically. Cosmus was to be sold and he hated the idea. Polycarpus felt very sorry for his situation, and I think saw something of himself in the lad.’

  ‘So Polycarpus bought him from Aviola?’

  ‘Yes. He came to us and was nothing but a nuisance. I do not want him in the house any longer.’ Graecina rushed on, ‘I have
asked Galla Simplicia for help with getting rid of him, because I am so afraid he will be difficult about it.’

  She stopped, so I repeated it more simply: ‘You are altogether afraid of him.’

  She behaved as if she had not heard. ‘Galla Simplicia’s cousin was going to have Cosmus picked up for me, and sent away for sale. I had said nothing about it, but I think Cosmus may have guessed the plan.’

  ‘It seems unlikely he will come home this time!’ I returned dryly. ‘And that’s good, because you don’t want him in your house with young children here; you must feel unsafe yourself. I have to report him as a runaway, you understand why. The vigiles must set up an urgent search.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I understand,’ Graecina agreed miserably. There were tears in her eyes. She was a strong woman but she felt extremely anxious. I did not blame her. Her little household had fallen to pieces. Until the slave was found, there were also grave dangers.

  I gave my verdict: ‘I believe your slave Cosmus killed Valerius Aviola and Mucia Lucilia.’ Graecina let out another tiny whimper. She knew it was true. ‘He must have strangled them with the dog lead that has disappeared.’ I knew Polycarpus removed it from around Mucia’s neck – ‘an act of respect for the dead,’ according to Titianus. Trust him to misinterpret. It was ‘respect’ that allowed Polycarpus quietly to remove this murder weapon from the scene, so it would not be identified. Later, he destroyed it or lost it altogether.

  As Graecina’s hand flew to her mouth to smother her horror, I had to say, ‘I have no time now to ask, but I find it hard to see why Polycarpus was shielding the boy.’

  ‘Just kind-heartedness, Albia!’

  ‘Well, it rebounded. When you and I went into that lock-up, you must have realised straightaway what the boy had done to Polycarpus. Cosmus showed no gratitude for your husband’s protection of him. Cosmus went into the shop downstairs and had an argument. Then Cosmus murdered your husband, strangling his kind master with his bare hands.’

  ‘I know why,’ admitted Graecina. ‘My husband had a great sense of fellow-feeling for all the slaves in the household, but he knew he now had to stop shielding Cosmus. He refused to keep him any longer after what the boy did to the master and mistress. He said we would sell Cosmus. Polycarpus had to think about me and the children. Cosmus became very angry. He swore he would run away for good. He demanded some of that silver to take with him.’

  ‘That must have been the quarrel in the lock-up,’ I reckoned. ‘Polycarpus had already hidden the silver elsewhere. He may have refused to say where it was, and he refused to give Cosmus anything.’

  I would have liked to ask more questions, about how and why, but Graecina was too upset. Telling her to keep the door bolted, I left her with her sweet little children and her flea-ridden dog.

  I had other things to do.

  54

  I almost ran down several flights of stairs.

  At street level, I saw Myrinus so warned him that if he or Secundus saw Cosmus they should only approach him with caution. I had to explain why. Myrinus told me that at one point Secundus taught Cosmus wrestling, but he gave up. The boy was strong, but he had the wrong temperament. Secundus said he wasn’t suitable to train in combative sport, he grew too angry.

  Strong and angry. That fitted.

  I found Dromo.

  ‘I packed all the stuff like you ordered me. My master’s belongings that he lent you are all on our handcart, but yours won’t fit.’ My modest luggage was bundled up neatly enough, but lay apart in the atrium, quarantined. If the commission was over, in Dromo’s eyes I ceased to have rights.

  ‘Either mine goes on the cart as well, Dromo, or the bad news is you will have to make two trips. Never mind that now. The good news is, you don’t have to do it straightaway because I need you to come with me to see the vigiles.’

  Dromo kicked the handcart. ‘Well, that’s a waste of my time! I didn’t need to do all that.’

  Working with me had failed to teach him any grasp of logic.

  At the Second Cohort’s station house, Titianus was about to go off duty. I made him stay to take down details, emphasising that this was not simply a runaway slave, but one who had committed three murders of citizens. Titianus put his head out into the colonnade and shouted a few orders, though I could hear little sound of response.

  ‘You seem to have cleared up the Aviola case!’ Titianus groused, making no effort to hide his jealousy. ‘So now you want me to do the tiresome bit, put myself out catching him.’

  I stayed calm. ‘If you can make the arrest, Titianus, you are welcome to the glory. The whole Esquiline community will be delighted the vigiles have acted with such efficiency. Besides, don’t you have a particular remit to track down runaway slaves?’

  Titianus softened up. ‘That’s because we run into so many of the buggers while we’re doing our rounds. The Second funds its entire Saturnalia drinks budget from the rewards we receive for returning lost slaves to their masters. Last year, one good-looking Syrian acrobat from a senator’s entertainment troop covered all our bites for our big do.’

  ‘Very public-spirited. Do you splurge all your perks on entertainment?’

  ‘Officially any thank-yous have to be put towards equipment. We can run with that as well. Any time we need new fire mats, we shake out a few homeless varmints from under bridges, make them squeal about who they belong to, march them home and invoice for our finders’ fee.’

  ‘Well, just make sure you catch this raging boy Cosmus.’

  ‘Cosmus? Isn’t he that odd boy I spoke to? – Bloody hell!’ swore Titianus. ‘For the record, why is he raging?’

  ‘Nasty personality … I am not certain. I have a theory, but I need to check it.’

  ‘Theories, eh? We don’t generally bother with those.’

  ‘It’s like a new position in sex, Titianus. Give yourself a treat and try it.’

  While he blushed, I asked how long the vigiles might take to complete a search for the missing slave, but Titianus had no idea. According to him, his team was fully stretched because everywhere from the Temple of Minerva Medica to the Viminal Gate was full of wounded and dying criminals, with their savage wives and mothers screaming for vengeance and pulling knives to carve up people. This was ever since I and my cronies made such deeply unnecessary attempts to stir up excitement in the gangster community.

  ‘Gallo’s on crutches, for leaving that man in the cells. It’s a bloodbath!’

  ‘Just up your street then, hard man.’

  Titianus stared at me as if he thought I was being satirical at his expense. He was slow, but like everyone else around me on this case, he was learning.

  As he showed me out, he darted off into a side room and came out with an iron collar. ‘This will secure him.’

  ‘So much easier if every slave who is liable to wander has an I-have-runaway dog-collar riveted on, with a return address!’ I said.

  There was nothing else I could do about looking for Cosmus, so I walked Dromo back through the Esquiline Gate to pick up our things at the apartment.

  There we found Sextus Simplicius, the overweight executor, dithering in the courtyard. He had brought me a reward for finding the lost silver. I thanked him sweetly for this unexpected bonus, though from the weight of the purse, it was a somewhat small reward.

  The mint-scented mooner would have to do better than that, if he wanted his next ploy to succeed. He invited me to take a glass of borage tea at some place he knew, which he said was very close nearby and had an extremely nice vine-covered pergola. Clearly this was one of those moments at the end of a case when a man thinks that now he won’t be seeing you again he can risk a seduction scene.

  Why do they never realise we women already know the ‘nice place nearby’ routine?

  I declined. In this I was aided by Dromo standing at my side, glaring. I would miss him.

  So Dromo and I said goodbye to that tragic apartment, and departed from the Esquiline. I still did not know fully what had
gone on there, but by the end of the day I would have found out.

  Dromo had the handcart, moaning repeatedly that it was overtaxing him. I heaved my own luggage in one awkward bundle over my shoulder, never complaining. An informer ought to travel light, certainly with no more than she can manage herself; she can be sure nobody will help. We cleanse society of undesirables, yet we receive few thanks. Small change and horrible overtures; no real gratitude.

  We went slowly, not taking the route that led to the Aemilian Bridge with its miseries of yesterday, but walking down parallel with the Servian Walls, to the open monumental area between the Flavian Amphitheatre and the Temple of the Divine Claudius. This was near the Capena Gate. I called in to see Uncle Quintus, which was one way to a free lunch.

  He was fine. We talked about work. He told me Aulus had sent a written judgement to the Temple of Ceres. After careful historical research, Aulus had advised that the temple’s reputation as a place of sanctuary derived from its plebeian past: thumbing noses at the upper class by offering refuge to those who had been arrested by patrician magistrates. ‘So Aulus recommends taking a hard line: one, the status war should be relegated to the past, as a gesture of new thinking. Bit of a shock for my tight-arsed brother to be a champion of liberal thinking, but he can do it if he closes his eyes and rushes at the idea … Two, the Aviola slaves should therefore be placed under arrest by Manlius Faustus, then passed to the usual authorities.’

  ‘To be charged with not assisting their master and mistress?’

  ‘I realise you are now saying only one slave is guilty of murder.’

  ‘Different household, Uncle Quintus. He also killed his own master, a freedman. When Cosmus is caught, he goes down, no question: execution.’

  ‘And the other slaves, Albia? Faustus commissioned you to exonerate them, but do you say it can’t be done?’

  I nodded. ‘They are certainly guilty of conspiracy. I am off to a final reckoning with them, after which I suspect I can in fact show they are guilty of something worse than non-intervention. You know I am not sentimental and neither is the aedile. If Aulus rules that the slaves have no right to sanctuary, I shall give Faustus very good reasons to arrest them.’