Time to Depart mdf-7 Page 6

  'Helena can pick out a tasty jug.'

  'Too right. And I'm damned if I'll let it go without a fight. I want you to help track it down for me.'

  I had already worked out what he wanted. I had my answer ready too: 'I have to earn. It need a fee. I'll need expenses.'

  'Oh we can come to some arrangement,' murmured Pa in his airy fashion. He knew Helena would be so upset when she heard this that I would probably end up searching for him for free. He also knew that finding stolen art was my speciality, so he had come to the best man. Other people would be after my services too. Pa had got to me first, before anyone else who had suffered losses today – anyone who might actually pay me – could claim my time.

  I downed my wine, then shoved the bill across the table pointedly. If he was paying my expenses he could start with the one for entertaining him. 'I'm off then.'

  'Beginning already?' Pa had the grace to look impressed. 'Do you know where to look?'

  'That's right.' Well, I knew how to lie well.

  X

  In fact, I had only one plan at this stage. Petronius Longus had been hauled to the Palace by the imperial guard. He was in grave trouble. After all the times he had criticised the way I carried out my own work, I could stand watching him squirm. I was off to see how he tried to convince the Emperor that he knew what he was doing.

  Besides, Petro was my oldest friend. There was a risk he was about to lose his job for today's action. If I could, I would help him bluff his way out of that.

  I marched up the Clivus Victoriae to the old Palace of Tiberius, where the bureaucrats still had their offices.

  Petronius Longus was sitting on a bench in a corridor. He had been there long enough to start looking worried. His face was pale. He was leaning forwards with his knees apart, staring at his upturned palms. I saw him twitch as I arrived. He pretended to look suave. I thumped his shoulder and berthed alongside.

  'Lucius Petronius – the man who brought Rome to a standstill!'

  'Don't harass me, Falco!'

  'Don't fidget. I'm here to back you up.'

  'I can manage.'

  'Well you can manage to get yourself into a fix.'

  'I don't need a nursemaid.'

  'No, you need a friend at court.' He knew I was right. 'You've been there, I take it, Falco? What's going on now?'

  'Fusculus is keeping the crowds penned out. Porcius is distributing riot shields. I didn't see Martinus. Pa told me the gist of last night's disaster.'

  'He lost that glass of yours, he says.' Petro knew my father well enough to allow for possible deception. I was unperturbed by the insult to the family name. It had never stood high, least of all in respect of Papa. 'They were a sharp crowd of thieves, Falco. I don't like the smell of it. Geminus lost his glass; we know that was quality. Calpurnius was deprived of a huge haul of porphyry that also only came in yesterday. Someone else lost ivory.' I wondered what, if anything, was special about goods landed yesterday. 'Martinus is collecting full details, but we can see the losses are serious.'

  'I thought the Emporium was guarded at night.'

  Petro growled in the back of his throat. 'All hit over the head and laid out in a line like dead sardines, tied up and gagged.'

  'Neat. Too neat?' I queried thoughtfully. 'An inside job, maybe?'

  'Possibly.' Petro had thought of it. 'I'll work some of the guards over. When I get the chance.'

  'If!' I grinned, reminding him that his position was about to be tested. 'This could be your big chance to meet the Emperor.'

  'I've met him.' Petro was terse. 'Met him with you, Falco! On the famous occasion when he offered you a fortune to keep quiet about a scandal but you opted for the high moral ground and threw away the cash.'

  'Sorry.' I had not forgotten refusing the fortune, merely that Petro had been there watching me play the fool. I had made the mistake of uncovering a plot that impinged too closely on the imperial family; struck by an urgent need to protect his son Domitian, Vespasian had rashly promised me advancement, a ploy he now regretted, probably. It had been pointless in any case, given that I had turned the offer down in a high-handed manner. 'Nobody buys my silence.'

  'Hah!' Petronius knew the only loser had been myself.

  Suddenly a chamberlain slid out through a curtain and gave Petro the nod.

  I stood up too. 'I'm with him.' The official had recognised me. If he thought I was trouble he was too well groomed to let it show.

  'Didius Falco,' he greeted me smoothly. The two Praetorian Guards flanking the doorway gave no sign of hearing what was said, but I knew they would now let me pass inside without tying my arms in a Hercules knot. I had no wish to approach anyone of regal status looking flustered after a fight. I knew, even though we were not in the right part of the Palace, that we were about to meet regality: hence the Praetorians.

  Petronius had shot towards the curtain the minute he was signalled. Before he could object I stepped past him and entered the audience chamber. He grabbed the curtain and bounced in after me.

  Petronius would have been expecting an office, one full of people perhaps, but all with the kind of status he felt free to ignore. I heard him utter something, then cut it off short. It was a lofty room full of scribes. But there was one other, very particular occupant. Petro choked. Even though I had warned him, he had not seriously expected that he would meet the Emperor.

  Vespasian was reclining on a reading couch, glancing over a note tablet. His craggy face was unmistakable; he had certainly not bothered to demand a flattering portrait when he approved the new coin issue.

  There was no pomp. The couch was against a side wall, as if it had been placed there for casual visitors. The whole impression was that the lord of the Empire had just dropped in and made himself at home in someone else's cubbyhole.

  Centrally, there was the long table, covered with scrolls and piles of tablets. Secretaries were stationed there with their styli. They were scratching away vety fast, but the speed was unforced. A young slave, smart though not particularly handsome, stood quietly near the Emperor, a napkin over one arrn. In fact Vespasian was pouring his own drink – half a cup; just to wet his whistle. He left it on a bronze pedestal so that he was free to stare at us.

  He was a big, easy-going, competent character. An organiser, he had the direct glance of a blacksmith, with the country-born arrogance that reminded me of my grandfather. He knew what he believed. He said what he thought. People acted on what he said. They did it nowadays because they had to, but people had been jumping when Vespasian barked since long before he was Emperor.

  He had held all the civil magistracies and the highest Militaty ranks. Every post in his career through the cursor known had been screwed out on merit and in the face of Establishment prejudice. Now he held the final post available. The Establishment was still prejudiced against him, but he need not care.

  He wore the purple; it was his entitlement. With it he had neither wreath nor jewels. For him the best adornment of rank was acute native intelligence. That was aimed at us. An uncomfortable experience.

  'Falco! What are you doing here, and who's your big bodyguard?'

  I walked forwards. 'I act as his guardian actually, sir.' Petronius, annoyed at my joke, followed me; I shoved him to the front. 'This is my friend Lucius Petronius Longus, whom you want to see: the enquiry captain of the Aventine sector in the Fourth Cohort of the vigiles. He's one of the best – but he's also the happy fellow who shut the Emporium today.'

  Vespasian Augustus stared at Petronius. Petronius looked self-conscious, then thought better of it and stared boldly at the floor. It was marble; a tasteful acreage in black and white. The tesselations had been laid by a sharp tiler.

  'That took nerve!' commented the Emperor. Petronius looked up again, and grinned slightly. He would be all right. I folded my arms and beamed at him like a proud trainer showing off his best gladiator.

  'I apologise for any inconvenience, sir.' Petronius always sounded good. He had a mellow voice
and a calm delivery. He gave a trustworthy impression. That explained his success with civic selection boards, and with women.

  'Apologies may not be enough,' replied Vespasian. Unlike selection boards and women, he could spot a rogue. 'How do you know Falco?'

  'Colleagues from the Second Augusta, sir.' Our legion was one Vespasian himself had once led. Both Petro and I allowed ourselves a certain cockiness.

  'Really.' The Second had disgraced itself since Vespasian's day. Regretfully, we all let the subject drop. 'You two work in different areas now.'

  'We both strive for law and order, sir.' A bit too pious, I thought. Petro could get away with it perhaps, since Vespasian had not known him long. 'Which is what I was doing today after the robbery at the Emporium.' Petronius Iiked to gallop straight to the point. The concept of first being weighed up through friendly chatter was so alien to his blunt nature that he was rushing the interview.

  'You wanted to assess the damage before people trampled everywhere.' Vespasian could assimilate information swiftly; he rapped out the explanation as if it were obvious. I saw Petro flush slightly. He now realised he had plunged in too fast. Given our relative positions in this conversation, forcing the pace was rude. Being rude to an Emperor was the first step to having a lion sniff your bum. 'Why', asked the Emperor coolly, 'could you not have made the merchants responsible for alerting you to their losses in due course? It is in their own interests to provide the information. They will want you to retrieve the stolen goods. So why cause a riot?'

  Petronius looked alarmed. He had done things his own way. It was a way that would work, so he had not bothered with alternatives. Alternatives tend to be messy. Just thinking about them wastes time.

  'Closing the market sounds crude,' he admitted. 'I was thinking ahead, sir. It was clear we were dealing with a highly organised gang. They had already made fools of everyone involved with security at the Emporium.' He paused. Vespasian quietly indicated that he could go on. Petro got into his stride: 'My immediate reaction was that the raid was so well done they wouldn't stop there. We'll see them again – either at the Emporium, or elsewhere. At this moment they have the advantage on me. I need all the facts – and I need them rapidly. Today I had to discover everything I could about the methods used – how they had identified the goods in advance, for instance. This was no ordinary robbery. The haul was exceptional, and I prophesy big trouble in Rome.'

  Without actually answering the original question, Petronius Longus had managed to put the situation in context. He came out of it well, too. I knew it was bluff, but he looked like a man who was planning well.

  'You expect a repetition of today?'

  'I fear it, sir.'

  The Emperor leant forwards suddenly. 'Were you expecting this?'

  Petronius did not flinch from the fierce question. 'No, sir. But I had felt something might happen.'

  'Why?'

  'A power vacuum has been created in the Criminal fraternity.'

  'How? Oh, Balbinus Pius of course. You were responsible for that.'

  This time Petro was startled. He had not realised that the tablet which Vespasian had been reading when we entered would have been his brief from the secretariat: a swift summary of events today, an account of Petro's career, a brief of the Balbinus case, even polite suggestions for handling this interview.

  I stepped in: 'Petronius Longus is too modest to regale you with his success, sir. He was indeed the oflicer who convicted Balbinus. He found an opportunity to do it, and he saw matters through. He's too good a man to stop there. He thought ahead, and considered the effect on Rome.'

  Vespasian gave no sign of having heard me, though he certainly had. He looked at Petro, who was quite capable of sliding out of this. While I burbled, he had already marshalled his thoughts: 'Sir, I realised the size of the Emporium heist meant there would be political implications.'

  'Political?' We had the Emperor's full attention. He himself had stepped into a power vacuum when he wrested the throne from the various contenders and settled in to remedy the oddities of Nero's reign and the devastation of the ensuing civil war. He had yet to prove himself. He was working hard, but the benefits of good government take longer than the ravages of bad to become apparent. His grasp on power was still precarious.

  I suggested dryly, 'Robbery on a grand scale casts doubt upon the government's effectiveness, sir.'

  'No, it casts doubt on the effectiveness of the watch!' retorted the Emperor.

  Petronius was visibly annoyed with me. 'Sir, it will cause grumbles, I realise. But I take this theft as a signal. It was very bold. Some element is declaring open war – '

  'On whom?' rapped the Emperor. 'You? Me?'

  'On the watch, certainly,' Petro replied slowly. 'On the state by implication. And probably on other major thieves. Given that context, I should say that it is likely to involve more than one city sector- '

  'That's beyond your scope!' Vespasian had an old- fashioned regard for the limits of office. Immediately he reined Petro in: 'That calls for a co-ordinated strategy.'

  'Yes, sir,' agreed Petronius, looking meek. 'I was of course intending to alert my cohort tribune and the Prefect of the City, sir.' The lying shark!

  Vespasian thought about it. 'I'd better see your tribune. I'd better see them all.' He gave a slight nod to some sideliner in a white tunic. This silent, virtually invisible official was more than just a secretary. Notes were being made briefly on a tablet, but these were the notes of a man taking instructions. He knew the fast rule of administration: always cover yourself. 'Conference. After lunch. Warn Titus.' The Emperor spoke offhandedly, though both Petro and I had a sense of starting far more than we had bargained for. He turned back to us. 'That still leaves the riot to diffuse. What do you suggest.?'

  Knowing that the man who starts a riot rarely thinks about how he will stop it, I thought best to offer ideas myself. 'You could mollify the discontent to some degree by announcing compensation, sir.'

  'Compensation?

  I had done it now. I had used a naughty word.

  XI

  'Thanks a lot, Falco!'

  We were back on the bench in the corridor. The chamberlain who shepherded visitors was looking curious. The white-tunic-clad official strode oft. Vespasian's mention of lunch told us that the 'few minutes' we had been told to wait would be sevetal hours. Petronius was furious. 'Well if that was helping, thanks, Falco! Thanks to you mentioning money, the poor old buffer's had to rush to his bedroom for a quiet lie-down!'

  'Forget it,' I assured Petro. 'Vespasian's famously tight, but he won't faint at the mere mention. If he hates our suggestion he'll say no.'

  'Your suggestion,' Petro inserted. I ignored it.

  We were silent for a while, mulling over events past and recent. 'What in Hades have you got me into here?' Petro grumbled. -

  'At some point later, when we want to be having our dinner, we'll find ourselves advising a committee on the fine points of managing crime.'

  'I just want to get back to my case.'

  'This could be the most promising assignment of your life.'

  'Stuff it,' Petro growled.

  It was in fact lunch time when things started to happen. First the white tunic came and collected us. He wanted to pick our brains. We allowed it, but made sure we shared his lunch.

  He introduced himself as Tiberius Claudius Laeta. Evidently a Palace freedman of great status, he had possession of a room that was twice as big as my whole apartment. There, when Vespasian didn't need a minion to push around, the good Laeta could sit and pick his nose. There, too, persons of lesser status brought him trayloads of sustenance.

  'Nice!' we said.

  'It's a living,' he replied. There was only one winecup but Petro quickly found a couple of dusty extras hidden behind some scroll boxes. The clerk tried to look impressed with our initiative as, smiling like happy new cronies, we poured his flagon for him. Since the wine was free, it proved good enough even for Petro. Laeta raised his cup
to us, looking pleased to have company. Being top clerk, which he obviously was, can be a lonely life. 'So! I gather you're Falco, one of Anacrites' men?'

  'I'm Falco,' I answered patiently. 'I'm my own man.'

  'Sorry. I understood you worked for the bureau that we don't talk about.'

  'I have worked for the Emperor. I found the rewards unrealistic, and I don't plan any more.'

  'Ah!' The good Laeta managed to say this with an air of discretion, while implying that whatever bureau he served was scheming to put the Chief Spy on the rim of a live volcano and give him a big shove. 'Maybe you would find it more rewarding working for us.'

  'Maybe,' I said, fairly peacefully. If it upset Anacrites, I would consider anything.

  Claudius Laeta gave me a considered stare, then turned to Petronius. Petro had been stolidly putting away a platter of cold artichoke hearts. As his attention was demanded by our host, I myself started on Laeta's dish of anchovies. 'And you are Petronius Longus, of the Aventine Watch?' Petro nodded, still chewing. 'Do set me straight about the vigiles. I confuse them with the Urban Cohorts…'

  'Easily done.' Petronius filled him in politely. Replete, he leant back on a stool and gave Laeta his lecture for new recruits: 'This is how law and order works in Rome. Top of the heap you have the Praetorian Guard; Cohorts One to Nine, commanded by the Praetorian Prefect, barracked at the Praetorian Camp. Fully armed. Duties: one, guarding the Emperor: two, ceremonial swank. They are a hand-picked elite, and full of themselves. Next in line and tacked on to them are Cohorts Ten to Twelve, known as the Urbans. Commanded by the Urban Prefect – a senator – who is basically the city manager. Routinely armed with sword and knife. Their unofficial job description is to repress the mob. Duties officially: to keep the peace, keep their ears open, and keep the Urban Prefect informed of absolutely everything.'

  'Spying?' Laeta queried dryly. 'I thought Anacrites did that?'

  'He spies on them while they're spying on us,' I suggested.