I complained, ‘I am twenty-nine, an independent widow – and I am sitting here!’
‘That’s right,’ agreed Uncle Petro, ever unflappable. ‘Able to get into all sorts of trouble − and old enough to know where to look for it.’ Warmed by his fine riposte, he settled his big frame more comfortably. ‘So now you’re in a pickle and I have to help you out.’
‘While you’re here, I expect you’d like a drink,’ Faustus suggested to him.
‘Now you’re talking!’ Holy Vestals, the boys were bonding.
Faustus waved up the only slave who was still around, the others having disappeared when the evening grew late. After a word in his ear, the boy went off. Petro filled in time by asking, ‘Who do you normally deal with in the Fourth?’ To him, his old cohort was the only one worth mentioning. He still mentioned it a lot.
‘Titus Morellus, though he’s currently on sick leave.’
‘Took a blow at work, I heard?’ Morellus had inherited Petro’s job, allowing my uncle to look superior about his successor’s supposed delicate health. ‘How do you find him?’
‘Fine, when he’s available. He was struck down by a poisoner, nearly croaked. Albia and I were working that case.’
Petronius shook his head at me. ‘Was that when you wrecked the old balcony? Plenty of memories were lost that day …’
‘You and Father glugging wine on it and talking about women.’
‘Sometimes even drinking the health of women we love and admire!’ Petronius reproved me. He had not finished interrogating Faustus: ‘So your remit covers both the Twelfth and Thirteenth regions here on the Aventine?’
‘Plus the Transtiberina,’ Faustus dutifully supplied.
‘Good luck with that!’
‘Yes, it’s lively. I also look after half the Field of Mars, mainly theatres and porticos. A colleague handles the Pantheon and the Saepta, with all things north. With the Transtib and Circus Flaminius, obviously I liaise with the Seventh Cohort who are, between us two, a bit of a shower.’
‘I’d not quarrel with that! Have much to do with Scaurus of the Fourth?’ Petronius quizzed.
Faustus merely emitted a choking noise. When evaluating a cohort tribune, contempt was the correct response. Uncle Petro brightened further as the returning slave brought a flagon and two cups. He must have fetched them from indoors – he hadn’t had time to go to a bar.
‘I like a man who keeps a private stash in his office − and is prepared to share it. Fetch us one more beaker, son,’ my uncle told the serving boy, nodding at me. He added to Faustus, with a heavy wink, ‘I don’t approve of women drinking, but after fifteen years in this family, I bend with the wind.’
‘Best practice!’ Faustus poured politely for my uncle and me, himself waiting for the extra cup.
Lucius Petronius quaffed, then admitted surprise at how good the aedile’s private wine was. ‘Setinum?’
‘You can never go wrong,’ Faustus acknowledged modestly.
Petronius stretched out his long legs, as if ready to pass a whole evening there. Faustus copied the action. With no rehearsal, my presumed lover was making himself an acceptable prospect. All he had to do now was actually want to woo me.
Petro was finally ready to start the real discussion. ‘Let’s get down to business. Neither of us likes what Albia does, but it keeps her happy. She earns a bit of pocket money, though she doesn’t need the income. Her father’s an auctioneer, for Jove’s sake! She stays out of trouble – Falco and I have taught her that. She helps a few lamentable souls, where nobody else would bother. Between friends, I know she must be on your watch list of disreputable professions, but everything this one gets up to is harmless, I can vouch for that.’
I groaned. Lucius Petronius was acting the retired squaddie. He would drop the right word, as he saw it – and bury me much deeper. ‘Oh, Petro, let me handle things myself, will you? Nothing is worse than some grey-haired, gnarly has-been who believes he knows the ropes, but whose day has passed.’
‘She speaks her mind,’ my unwanted referee growled at Faustus. ‘Think you can handle it?’
Faustus gave him a resigned shrug − exactly what was called for. There was no point in fighting Lucius Petronius, and the aedile was wise to accept it.
‘Let me fill you in. I was there in Londinium when Falco and Helena first hauled this nipper off the streets,’ Petro confided, as if to a long-time drinking crony. ‘The pair of them thought here was a poor urchin they could civilise. Good people, but ludicrous.’
‘You believe civilising Albia is hopeless?’ Faustus asked meekly. A deceptive man, his grey eyes were conveniently veiled by the shadow of a pergola. Aediles enjoyed the very best of civic gardening at their headquarters.
‘No, I believe they did a good job!’ snarled Petro. ‘She’s not a bloody Druid. She never hangs up mistletoe or croons at the moon. She can read, she dresses nicely, her heart’s in the right place. People can take her anywhere. Well, almost. I wouldn’t push it myself. She’s a girl, she can be unpredictable. Once a month she’s a termagant. Believe me, I’m father to several and I know what I’m talking about … What I’m saying is, wherever she came from, Albia is ours now, so you treat her decently.’
Faustus was deadly quiet. ‘Albia is safe with me.’
‘Ah, but are you safe with her?’
I saw Faustus smile faintly. ‘Who knows? My fear is, your Albia could break my heart … But I believe she gives her loyalty to very few, and when she does, she is tenacious.’
My uncle considered that. I considered it myself.
I wondered if there was any point in me speaking on my own behalf. Deciding not, I served myself more wine. Faustus stretched out his arm for me to slosh him a top-up. Our familiarity was instantly observed.
‘So what’s your plan, Aedile?’ quizzed Petro. ‘Arresting Albia? Whatever’s that for? You’re a handsome package: I don’t suppose this is the only way you can get women?’
Faustus let him tease. ‘Petronius Longus, you know how things pan out in the Porticus of Pompey after dusk. The place pretends to be sophisticated, but that’s crap.’ Now he in turn spoke as a colleague. Two men of the law-and-order world. Compatriots in crime-fighting. ‘The louts were hunting for a riot. Social dross adores a rumpus. Tensions run high in hot weather. Consequence: we had a roughhouse.’ My uncle looked jealous to have missed it. ‘Somebody had found a corpse, which always leads to silly behaviour. Judging the mood as dangerous, I took Albia into custody for her protection.’
‘No charges, then?’
Faustus looked surprised. ‘What would I charge her with?’
‘Some magistrates I’ve bumped noses with would think of something.’
‘Holy shit, I hope not. Don’t force me to write out a damned docket!’
‘Damned hassle …’ Petronius approved. Since he had finished off the Setinum, he was ready to move. ‘Everything seems quiet enough.’
‘Certainly is up here. So,’ Manlius Faustus suggested, ‘I can take Flavia Albia home to her apartment and see Rodan locks the gate behind her safely.’
‘Good try, hopeful Cupid!’ Uncle Petro scoffed. ‘No, thanks. This is a respectable young woman and I am her male relative, in loco parentis for the legendary Falco. I shall take that madman’s daughter to ours for a bite of dinner, then escort her to her horrible dosshouse. No need for you to trouble, Aedile. No need at all.’
36
Cobnuts. Not only was I kidnapped from the aedile’s grasp, but dragged off to eat with Petro and Maia. My uncle clearly hoped to wrench another flagon of Setinum from Faustus to bring away with us, but was disappointed.
Not as disappointed as me. I had felt sure this was an evening when Manlius Faustus, in the words of his friend Sextus, would have made his move. When we said goodbye, he kissed my cheek to annoy Uncle Petro; he was formal, yet his fingertips brushed my inner wrist, which was certainly not public etiquette. I could see he was stressed by a long day. Alone with me, Faustus would
have shared his weariness; he would have taken comfort – and given solace in return. So, another chance lost, and every time it happened, the pattern became more established.
Cursing, I pretended to be annoyed because Faustus and I had had things to confer about. My uncle therefore nagged me over what those might be, giving me his professional thoughts, most of which I disagreed with.
Fortunately my aunt could cook.
They lived in a too-small apartment, given that Aunt Maia had two sons and a daughter still at home, another married daughter who visited on a daily basis, and now they shared the place with Petro’s daughter and her baby. He was a grimly protective father, so no one had been surprised when his adored Petronilla rebelled and ended up pregnant by some unknown man. Well, she knew who he was. As we ate that night, every so often Petro let out a snide comment designed to goad her into naming the culprit so Petro could kill him, while she stubbornly kept silent. Petronilla had lived with her mother until her disgrace but, interestingly, the mother threw her out and it was her father who gave her refuge. None of us had expected that.
He ignored the baby when anyone was looking, but Maia had caught him dandling his grandson secretly. He called himself tough, but was an utter softie.
Petronius assumed Petronilla had got herself pregnant purely to annoy him. My wise aunt Maia thought it was an unfortunate accident and was glad Petronilla had had enough sense not to tie herself to whatever male disaster had landed her in trouble. She loved her father and had always been his darling. He was hideously traditional, yet when a crunch came, Lucius Petronius did not let her down.
It went for me, too, I knew that. Had I truly been in difficulty with the aedile, Lucius Petronius would have scooped me out of it. He had played the fool tonight, but only because nothing else was needed.
With Petronilla he refused to stop railing. In the end, Maia biffed his ear and sent him onto their sun terrace. Various children cleared dishes, which left her free to tackle me about Faustus.
I said nothing. What was there to say?
‘Petronius says your fellow “seems all right”.’
Juno and Minerva! I fought back with tactless enquiries about the menopause, until my ear was biffed too. ‘Ow! Girls’ talk. You know you love it.’
‘Don’t push me, Albia.’
We settled down and discussed the auction. I brought her up to date on today’s adventures.
Maia was round (too round, these days) and attractive, her hair still dark − aided by her daughter Cloelia, who was a hairdresser, and a good one, though even Cloelia had failed to tame Maia’s curls. She coped well with being a step-grandmother but her youthful spirit remained. Maia had always been seen as headstrong. She had ideas. She spoke her mind. I didn’t quibble with that − except when she spoke of my chances with Manlius Faustus, a man she had never met and couldn’t judge, even if I wanted to have a chance with him, which, according to what I consistently told the family, I did not.
‘Ideal,’ commented Maia. ‘No risk of Falco having to kill some twerp who can’t keep his tozzle under his tunic.’
‘He’s pious.’
‘He’s unique, then!’
‘Do you want me to tell you about the new strongbox incident or not?’
‘I think I get it. This is a magic container. Every time the lid comes up, a bloated corpse pops out. Does my brother know? He’ll shoot into this conundrum like a belaying pin up a sailor’s arse.’
I had no idea where Maia had learned her nautical naughtiness. It was me who had been married to an ex-marine; her first husband was a horse vet. ‘I am handling it. Don’t say a word to Falco – or Helena.’
‘You’re right, she’s as bad. What’s your plan?’
I spelled out options. From choice, I wanted thoughts from Faustus, but I let my aunt be my sounding board. The first line of enquiry had to be: discover what had upset Callistus Primus so badly. I had suspicions.
‘You think it’s his father? The first body?’ My aunt tossed that in without being asked.
‘Oh, thank you, Maia! I do love solving a problem, then having my grand theories pre-empted.’
She smirked. Always the clever one in the family – and she knew it. ‘Obvious. We took the auction instructions from the father, but since then only the sons have been involved. Primus and Secundus were insistent I send any money straight to them when I cashed up. If their father is dead, I suppose they can’t touch anything else. They have no free cash – they admitted to me they had used up everything from under the mattress, getting their cousin elected.’
‘Which he won’t be. He lost the Emperor’s favour, and now he’s been seriously hurt. He could die.’
‘So no bribes or fines will be coming in from that lucrative magistracy!’ Maia had a cynical view of administration. ‘I assume your lad is doing nicely out of his, by the way. All right: Manlius Faustus is too perfect to exploit the chance. I’m going off him rapidly … So why would Primus start blarting over an empty strongbox, unless he thinks it’s linked to some terrible tragedy?’
‘Bad memories? He might just have been remembering property they lost ten years ago to Mount Vesuvius,’ I conjectured even-handedly.
‘Rubbish! It must have deeper meaning.’ Maia was always brisk.
‘They could have lost family in the eruption, as we did.’
‘Why sell the strongbox at all?’ she demanded. ‘If it has sentimental connections that still make him cry?’
‘Maybe Secundus and Firmus put it in the sale without telling Primus.’
Maia refused to accept it. ‘He came down to watch the bids first time, didn’t he? With the others? Was he easy when Niger secured it?’
‘He looked calm enough that day,’ I confirmed, remembering how the two brothers and Firmus had stood and watched the strongbox being sold. ‘So what about Niger? Have you come across him before?’
‘Oh, yes. He acted as a negotiator for several people. Some folk don’t like to come to auctions in person, perhaps out of shyness or fear that they’ll get carried away and bid too much. Or simply the day and time are inconvenient for them.’
‘Ever had anyone else go back on what their agent did?’
‘No. Sometimes one receives an earful if he fails to buy a wanted piece, or pays too much. That’s just the rough and tumble of patron and agent,’ Maia told me. She added, ‘And I’ve never seen anyone buy back their own goods before.’
I thought about it. ‘If Primus really believes now that his father was the first dead man, I reckon at the original sale he wanted to see if anyone took an unhealthy interest, meaning they could be involved in his father’s death. He wanted things to look normal, yet didn’t want the strongbox to go to someone else.’
Maia followed my thinking. ‘So back at the start he wanted the strongbox sold, for the money. He still thought that, once you told him someone had been dumped in it dead. But after he decided the corpse could be his own father’s, he viewed the box in a horrible new light. No one else should treat his father’s last resting place impiously. He tried to retrieve it discreetly, using Niger.’
I nodded. ‘And then I know they all had a row. Secundus and Firmus didn’t want to keep the chest because either they don’t think the father was ever in it at all or they don’t feel the empty container matters. From what they shouted at each other today, Secundus and Firmus cannot bear to believe the first dead man was Callistus Valens. They see Primus as wrongly fixated, while he blames them for wilful blindness to the truth.’
‘Can’t they just find out by looking at the dead man?’
‘Tried it.’ I told Maia what Fundanus had said about Niger going to view the corpse. ‘Niger claimed he didn’t recognise the man. So he’s then gone back to the Caelian and told the three junior Callisti that it is not Senior.’
Maia frowned. ‘So why is Primus so sure it was Valens? Why would Niger say no to that?’
‘I don’t know. It could be a genuine mistake. Niger had only recently starte
d working for them. He may not have known the father well enough to recognise him. The body was in a repulsive state, Maia.’
‘These three men,’ mused my aunt, ‘have some reason to fear the old one must be dead.’
‘They all seem to care about him. What did you think?’
‘Nice man,’ said Maia, immediately. ‘Something of a rarity!’
‘So they are genuinely upset if something has happened to him … Niger’s wife says he had been sent to the country on an errand earlier. In the week before the auction, the father had stopped sending messages, so let’s say Niger was hired to investigate. He learned nothing. When I turn up to say a corpse has been found, Primus starts brooding. He tells Niger to get back the chest. Niger is also sent to check out the body – Primus knew its location from me. Niger pronounces that it is not Valens, which Secundus and Firmus accept, perhaps too readily. Primus doesn’t believe it. He and the other two quarrel; they are all badly overwrought.’
‘Why didn’t Primus go and have a look himself?’ asked Maia.
‘Too late. Strongbox Man had been carried outside the city and cremated. He was taken immediately after Niger left.’
Maia wanted to be sure. ‘We do believe the old man has gone missing?’
‘Seems so. Callistus Valens always goes to the country in July to avoid the heat. This time he stopped authorising his banker to make payments to his boys − apparently unusual.’
‘Oh, yes!’ Maia showed off her knowledge. ‘He’s no miser. Happily splashes it.’
‘That fits. I was told he never emancipated his sons, but was generous. They bet on chariots; their wives are kitted out with glamorous gear.’
‘There’s your answer. Valens has dropped off his twig. Primus is right.’ Suddenly, as was her habit, Maia Favonia lost interest. ‘Now, will you be safe to find your own way over to Fountain Court? I don’t want that daft lump of mine taking you – he’ll go in too many bars on his way back.’
I said I would be safe. I slipped out quietly while Lucius Petronius was snoozing on the sun terrace.
I was much closer to Maia, Petronius and their children than others in our family. Maia and Petro were always nostalgic about where and when they first got together as a couple. They were in Britain with Falco and Helena when my adoptive parents found me; we all travelled home to Italy in one large party so I got to know them. In some ways this was good. I arrived in Rome with firm family connections, which I admit helped me hold my own with more suspicious relations.
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