A Body In The Bath House mdf-13 Page 3

  I would never forgive my sister.

  'Don't blame Maia,' said Helena.

  'Who mentioned Maia?'

  'Your face speaks, Marcus!'

  Helena was suckling the baby. Julia was sitting at my feet, repeatedly head butting my shins, annoyed to be no longer the sole object of attention in our house. That was certainly true; I ignored the little darling steadily. Nux chewed at one of my bootstraps.

  'Don't be such a hypocrite,' Helena enjoyed pretending to be a serene mother, rocking the new baby to sleep in her arms. It was an act; she was placidly thinking up ways to slate me. 'Own up. You hated the idea of Petronius and Maia growing close. He was your friend and you refused to share him.'

  'And she's my sister. Her husband had died suddenly; she was vulnerable. As her head of household – we never counted Pa – I did not want her messed about.'

  'Oh, you admit Petronius has a bad record!' Helena smiled.

  'No. Never mind his other women. He has been Maia's dogged follower, while my sister turns out as fickle as a flea.'

  'So what do you want?' Helena was easily roused by causes. 'That Maia Favonia should move straight from one husband to another, simply because an interested man is available and it is socially convenient? Shall she have no time to readjust after losing the husband we all pretend she loved?' Helena could be very dry and strikingly honest. Loving that tipsy loser Famia had been out of the question; I laughed harshly. Julia whimpered; I reached down and tickled her.

  'No, Maia deserves time to reflect.' I could be reasonable, even when it hurt. 'She is well suited to working in Pa's warehouse and it's doing her good.' Maia was keeping Pa's records more truthfully than he did – and learning about the antiques business.

  'Pius Aeneas graciously approves!' Helena was sneering. She took a tough line with traditional Roman values.

  'I do approve.' I was losing, but I stuck to it doggedly. Any head of household tries to stand up to the witch who ties him up in knots.

  Plenty of women at our level of society ran businesses. Most started out in partnerships with husbands, then as widows some chose to stay independent. (Independent widows with fears of being cheated were good news for informers. Their children brought in fees too – afraid the widows were planning remarriage with bloodsucking gigolos.) 'If Maia does make herself financially independent, she might still want a man in her bed '

  'And dear Lucius Petronius' said Helena wickedly, 'with all that practice, would be adequate!' I decided against commenting. Helena had a warning look in her eye. 'I think Maia will want a man in her life, Marcus. But not yet.'

  'Wrong. Last I saw, Petronius was hanging back. At the Festival of Vertumnus, Maia tried throwing herself at him.'

  'Petronius was afraid of being hurt. Maia misjudged that. And she herself may be confused, Marcus. For one thing,' Helena suggested, 'she had been married a long time, and may have lost her confidence.'

  'Marriage makes you forget the arts of love?' I scoffed.

  Helena Justina looked up at me, straight into my eyes, in a way that was intended to make me wish I had not asked. Both the children were with us; I had to let that pass.

  I was sure Maia had not simply mishandled her relationship with Petro. She knew how strongly he felt. She was a straight dealer. She had been all set to start something serious – then she completely backed off. Something made her do that.

  Helena and Maia were good friends. 'What happened?' I asked quietly.

  'I'm not sure.' Helena looked troubled. She had an idea – but she hated it.

  I considered the situation. There was one possibility. Before my sister so briefly became interested in Petronius, she had an abortive friendship with another man. 'Anacrites!'

  Well, she had sunk low there.

  Maia deserved better in life than the dice she had shaken out for herself. First as a young girl, she had opted to marry Famia. He may have looked amiable, and even stayed friends with her in his dozy way. Anyone connected with Maia would be stupid to give up on her. But Famia was a low proposition. He was a horse doctor for the Green charioteer faction and he drank continually. In his defence, he allowed Maia a free hand to run their household and bring up their children respectably which she could have done twice as well without his presence.

  Maia was finally widowed and, newly unattached, she took on the traditional role of flighty piece. Her first foray was to adopt a male friend of stunning unsuitability, as widows like to do. Her chosen companion was Anacrites, the Chief Spy. Spies are never reliable lovers, due to their life of risk and their lying natures. Anacrites was also my sworn enemy. We had been forced into occasional shared work for the Emperor, yet I never forgot that Anacrites had once tried to have me killed. He was shifty, jealous, vicious and amoral. He had no sense of humour and no tact. He never knew when he should keep to himself. And I reckoned he took up with my sister just to get back at me.

  A woman would have to be cracked to hitch up with a chief spy – any spy – but Maia always believed she could handle anything. Anacrites knew our family not only because he had worked with me; he had lodged with my mother. Ma thought he was perfect. I presumed my sister knew that our parent had a blind spot about men (well, dear Mother had married our father, for one thing). Maia also knew how I saw Anacrites. Anyone who looked that plausible had to be fake.

  Eventually even Maia sensed a dangerous imbalance in their friendship. Anacrites was too intense for her. She told us they had parted. She would have been tactful. She was even a little upset. If I could see it, he must have known too. He should have withdrawn gracefully.

  It was for the best. But would that maggot agree to let go? At last I understood the problem. 'Helena, are you saying Anacrites is harassing Maia?'

  Helena usually shared her worries with me, though sometimes she hugged them to herself for a long time first. Finally she burst out, 'I am frightened for her. She changed so suddenly.'

  'The children are very quiet.' Still, they had lost their father less than a year ago.

  'Have you spoken to Anacrites lately, Marcus?'

  'No.' I had thought it might be embarrassing. I expected him to plead with me to intercede with Maia. In fact, he had never addressed the point.

  If it hurt him to be rejected, he could react very nastily. Maia would not change her mind. So then Anacrites might do anything…

  Being the man he was, of course he did.

  My sister must have discovered what had happened in the late afternoon. After a normal day working with Pa at the Saepta Julia, she collected the children from my mother's house and returned home. By chance, I came along shortly afterwards. There was never any hope of her hiding the situation. Even before I went into the house, I had sensed the disaster.

  As I strolled up the road where they lived, I had seen Maia's three youngest children. She had left them waiting outside; that was unusual. The two girls and Ancus, the nervous one, were clinging together in a group on the pavement, opposite where they lived. Marius, the eldest, was missing (in defiance of his mother, I learned later, he had raced off trying to find me). Maia's street door was open.

  This was one of the Aventine's few good locations. People would think it rude to form a nosy crowd. Even so, frowning women were standing in their doorways. Men at food shop counters were staring this way. There was an ominous stillness. My instincts said something terrible had happened. I could hardly believe it; Maia's home was always well run. No oil lamps fell over, no braziers flickered near to door curtains. No unlocked shutters let in thieves. And she never left her children out in the road.

  I approached Cloelia, the maternal nine-year-old, who had her arms around her younger sister, Rhea. Ancus was holding his brother's oversized puppy; Nux, my own dog, slunk past ignoring her offspring as usual, then waited for me snootily as I took stock of the children. They all looked white, staring up at me with shocked, beseeching eyes. I drew a painful breath. I turned towards the house. When I saw the open door properly, the nightmare started
. Whoever came here earlier had advertised their atrocious deed: a girl's wooden doll had been hammered to the door, with a great nail through its head.

  Beyond, the short corridor was almost blocked. Possessions and shattered furniture were in chaos. I crashed over the threshold. My heart pounded. As I glanced into rooms, there was nothing worse to find. Well, there was nothing left. Every item that belonged to Maia and her children had been torn apart. Where was she? Nothing left. Everything destroyed.

  I found her, on the small balcony area they had always called their sun terrace. She stood amid the ruin of cushioned loungers and graceful side tables, with more smashed toys at her feet. Her back was to me; whitened fingernails gripped her bare arms as she rocked slightly to and fro. She was rigid when I took hold of her. She stayed rigid when I turned her round and held her. Then agonised tears came, silently.

  Voices. I tensed, ready for intruders. I heard urgent footsteps, then shocked obscenities. Young Marius, the eleven-year-old, had brought Petronius Longus, some vigiles too. After an initial commotion came quieter murmurs. Petronius arrived behind me. I knew who it was. He stood in the doorway; his mouth moved as he cursed silently. He stared at me, then his gaze covered the destruction in near disbelief. He pulled Marius against him, comforting the boy. Marius gripped a splintered chair arm, like a spear to kill his enemies.

  'Maia!' Petro had seen plenty of horrors, but his voice rasped. 'Maia Favonia who did this?'

  My sister moved. She spoke, her voice hard. 'I have no idea.'

  A lie. Maia knew who it was, and so did Petronius, and so did I.

  It took us time to gently persuade her to shift. By then, Petro's men had brought transport. They realised we must get her away. So we sent Maia and all the children with a vigiles escort to my father's house, out of town, on the Janiculan. There they would have space, peace, perhaps some safety. Well, at least Pa would give them decent beds.

  Either something else would happen, or nothing. Either this was a statement and a warning – or worse.

  Petronius and I cleared everything that night. We spent hours tearing the innards from the house, carrying out the smashed belongings and just burning them in the street. Maia had said wildly that she wanted nothing. Little could be salvaged, but we did keep a few items; I would store them, and let my sister see them later if she changed her mind. The house had been rented. I would terminate the lease. The family never needed to come back here.

  Everything material could be replaced. Maia's spirit would revive. Restoring courage to the children might be more difficult. Bringing back peace of mind to Petronius and me would never happen.

  After we finished at the house, we plotted. We were at the vigiles patrol station. Neither of us wanted to start drinking in a caupona.

  'Could we have stopped this?' I wondered grimly.

  'I doubt it.'

  'So much for recriminations! Best to get to the strategy, then.'

  'There are two questions.' Petronius Longus spoke heavily, in a dull voice. He was a big, quiet man who never wasted effort. He could see straight to the heart of trouble. 'One: what will he do now? Two: what shall we do to him?'

  'You can't wipe out the Chief Spy.' I would have done for Anacrites years ago, if it were feasible.

  'Unsafe. Yes.' Petro continued to talk and plan in a far-too-level voice. 'We'll be known to have a grudge. First suspects.'

  'There must have been local witnesses.'

  'You know the answer to that, Falco.'

  'Too scared to talk. So what? We lay a complaint against him?'

  'No proof.'

  'Visit him mob-handed?'

  'Dangerous.'

  'Suggest that he desists?'

  'He will deny responsibility.'

  'Also, he'll know he's had an effect.' For a moment we were silent. Then I said, 'We'll do nothing.'

  Petronius breathed slowly. He knew this was not capitulation. 'No. Not yet.'

  'It may take a long time. We'll keep her safe. Keep her out of his sight. Let him think he has won, let him forget about it.'

  'Then-'

  'Then one day there will be an opportunity.' It was a fact. I was not emotional.

  'True. There always is.' He smiled faintly. He was probably thinking the same as me.

  There had been a man in Britain, during the Rebellion, who betrayed the Second Augusta, our legion. What happened to that man afterwards was subject to a communal pact of silence. He died. Everyone knows that. The record says he fell on his own sword, as an officer does. Perhaps he did.

  I rose to leave. I held out my hand. Petronius grasped it without speaking.

  First thing next day, Helena went over to my father's house to find out what she could. Pa was hovering at home; he kept the children out of the way while Helena comforted my sister. Maia was still in shock and, despite her previous reticence, the story all came out.

  After Maia had told Anacrites she no longer wanted to see him, he seemed to take it well. Then he kept reappearing on her doorstep as if nothing had happened. She never involved me because she immediately realised it would do no good. Maia was stuck.

  He had hung around openly for a couple of months, then she started dodging him. He shadowed her more secretly. After the first few weeks he stopped approaching her. Nothing was said. But she knew he was there. He wanted her to know. She dreaded his presence all the time. The oppressive situation took over her life. He intended that. He wanted her to be frightened. Isolated with the problem, even my courageous sister became extremely scared.

  Maia kept hoping someone else would catch his eye. There was no reason why not. Anacrites could be pleasant. He was tolerable to look at; he earned a good screw. He had prestige. He owned property. He could take a woman to elegant receptions and private dinner parties, not that he had done so with Maia. Their relationship had been far more casual, just neighbourly. They never formally went about the world together. I don't believe they even went to bed. They never would do now, so his obsessiveness was pointless. Men who stalk victims cannot see that. This was Maia's predicament. She knew she would not shake Anacrites off. Yet she knew it was going nowhere. He had nothing to gain. But she had everything to lose.

  Like many women in that situation, she tried enduring her torment alone. In the end, she actually went to his office at the Palace, where for two hours she had tried reasoning with him. I knew how dangerous that could have been, but being Maia she got away with it, apparently unscathed. She appealed to Anacrites' intelligence. Anacrites apologised. He promised to stop hounding her.

  Next day, thugs violently trashed her house.

  That night, talking grimly about our predicament with the spy, Petronius and I had sworn to be sensible. We would leave him alone. We would both be watchful and patient. We would 'do' Anacrites, together, when the time was right.

  But I knew each of us was quite prepared, if a chance arose, to take separate steps to deal with this.

  Helena knew it too. Maia herself was a quick-witted girl – but Helena's mind worked even faster. Those great dark eyes saw at once what was likely to happen, and how any move against Anacrites could rebound dangerously on us. I should have realised that while Petro and I were plotting men's action, Helena Justina was constructing deeper plans. With the quiet logic of a cautious, clever woman, her plans were designed to take as many as possible of the people she loved well out of the way of trouble.

  VI

  It was at this dark moment – and because of it – that Pa and I turned up that corpse his treasured builders had left behind.

  Maia had gone to live on the Janiculan, swearing it was temporary (hating the whole of idea of moving in with our father). Her children were terrified; she herself was now desperate. Maia Favonia tried to give them all ordered lives. She stuck to normal mealtimes and bedtimes and since facilities were there, she insisted that her children were clean. Then little Rhea became hysterical every time she was led to the bath house. And eventually we smashed a hole through to the d
isgusting grave.

  I knew what would happen.

  As we recovered outside in the fresh air, Pa managed an aggravating prayer. 'Well, thank you, Jove! You have given me a son in a useful profession. Marcus, I rely on you to sort this.' He did not need to tell me he had no intention of paying fees.

  I stalked off, telling him to send for the vigiles so he just had a slave fetch Petronius. I watched my crony curiously to see how he would approach it. 'Geminus, stick this one up your arse.' Good lad! 'It's no use asking me. The vigiles only deal with crud inside the city boundary. Call in the Urban Cohorts. Give those sleepy wastrels something that stinks.'

  'Oh come on, boys,' whined Pa. 'Don't wish the bloody Urbans on me…'

  He had a point. I felt us weakening. The three Urban Cohorts were the inferior rump of the Praetorian Guard. In theory, they had a remit to solve serious crimes within a hundred-mile radius of Rome, but their expertise (I mean their lack of it) made us weep. The Urbans were a bandits' charter. Towns in the Campagna and Etruria that were seeking law and order quietly made their own arrangements. Most could produce some ambitious magistrate who wanted to gain fame by cleaning pickpockets off streets. If not, they had the sophisticated alternative: many bandits are available for hire as protection, often at quite reasonable rates.

  Petronius relented slightly. 'You'll have to dispose of the body, Geminus. You won't even get an undertaker to face this – I'll send up a man we use for clearing obscene remains. I warn you, he's not cheap.'

  'The bill belongs to Gloccus and Cotta, surely,' I said. Then I had a rethink. 'Unless this is Gloccus or Cotta…' A pleasing idea.

  None of us wanted to go close enough to check. In fact, I would not have been able to identify our two useless contractors anyway. They believed in site management from a distance; I had cursed them for months, yet never seen either face to face. Their workforce had been depressing enough: the usual string of inadequates called Tiberius or Septimus who never knew what day it was, all irritating drips who had problems with hangovers, backaches, girlfriends and dying grandfathers. The two things that united the labour force were feeble excuses and a complete lack of building skills.