On the verge of losing a man in his charge, Clemens went crazy. ‘Leave him! Leave him to stabilise, you fools! Somebody get these murderous bastards out of the bloody way—’
I strode up. I let the Guards know from my voice how furious I was at having to sound reasonable. ‘Just leave us to it now, lads. Better get lost. We were all on the same side, today. This was supposed to be a joint exercise—or hadn’t anyone explained that?’ Already displaying embarrassment, the Guards quickly decided to evacuate. Anacrites must have melted away from the scene ahead of them.
. Kneeling by Lentullus, Clemens was still desperately trying to stanch the blood. He looked back over one shoulder, recognised me as I came to assess the problem, and yelled: ‘Don’t just stand there, Falco! Get some help—get a doctor!’
XLII
This mission was stuffed with doctors. I knew only one who might be close at hand. It was quickest to visit him. As soon as we could safely shoulder Lentullus, we rushed him to the vigiles. Their outstation was barely two streets away. Luckily, I had underestimated the Fourth Cohort’s ability to recover from their Saturnalia drinks: a skeleton staff was on duty that night, and to my relief, one of them was Scythax, their morose doctor. He looked put out at the interruption, but he reacted quickly.
We lugged Lentullus in, and Scythax cleared a working space. A body was already on the table, but that was a dead man so he lost his place in the queue. The lads dumped the corpse outside in the exercise yard. At first we clustered round, but pretty soon Scythax shooed us out. He just kept Clemens to pass him equipment and take orders.
‘Is there any hope?’
‘Very little.’ Scythax was a dour bastard.
We sat in the yard, half of us on the cold ground, some on coils of rope. I tried both; they were equally uncomfortable. Fortunately Sentius—another dismal, peculiar type—turned up with our abandoned cloaks. Two were unaccounted for. On a headcount we realised Titus and Gaudus were missing. If they went down in the fight, nobody had seen it. We just had to hope they had fled in the confusion—perhaps with Justinus.
We waited.
Young soldiers spend a great deal of time sitting around while nothing much is happening—but that doesn’t mean they are good at it. Bored, Lusius took a look at the corpse Scythax had had in his cubicle. Fresh meat, Lusius said. To ease my stiffness I straightened up, and strolled over for a professional appraisal. He was fresh all right. I had seen this man alive not much more than an hour ago. It was the vagrant from the Via Appia, the musical one with the limited repertoire. He still had his deplorable one-note pipe, twisted into an indescribably filthy string he had been using as a tunic belt.
There was no indication what killed him. Lusius and I rolled him. Nothing.
Quietly I walked to the door of the medical cubicle.
Night had fallen hours ago, so the scene was lamp-lit; Clemens was holding a small pottery oil lamp, while the doctor carefully inserted a few animal-gut stitches to keep the flesh together on Lentullus’ mangled thigh.
‘How did this happen?’ Scythax asked, between actions with the needle. He was no fine embroiderer. Nor was he confident at sewing; he liked a challenge, but his normal work was with bums and crush wounds. Vigiles who were cut in accidents ended up with very crooked scars.
‘He tried attacking armed men when he didn’t have a sword.’ Clemens must have seen it occur. ‘So he used his feet. He stamped them; they were not happy.’
‘Drunks?’ Scythax was supposing this had happened in a normal street fight.
‘Oh no. They were sober.’ Clemens kept it diplomatic, still not mentioning the Guards.
‘You don’t want to hear it, Scythax,’ I added quietly from the doorway.
‘Well I might have known—if you’re involved, Falco.’ Scythax stood up stiffly, put down the needle and flexed his fingers. Shadows 6.-om the lamp made his sallow oriental face look cadaverous, below an odd straight fringe he wore, as if he needed to keep his forehead warm or his brain would decay. He always spoke to me warily, as if he feared he was about to discover I was carrying a dread infectious disease. ‘I will keep this man here; if he survives, it will be best not to move him.’ He placed a soft pad over the damage, but bandaged it loosely. I guessed he would be needing access at 6.-equent intervals. His hands were gentle as he covered Lentullus with a coarse blanket. ‘I have no remit to take in strangers—Rubella won’t like this.’
‘Understood.’ Rubella never liked anything on principle.
‘You’ll have to provide someone to do the daily nursing. I have my own work, you know.’
‘We are extremely grateful.’ Clemens might be in his first posting as an officer, but he had already learned how to handle civilians.
‘I’ll stay,’ I volunteered. I probablyought to try to find Helena, but she might do better without me. Anacrites would accommodate her with due regard for her father’s position and her own known friendship with Titus Caesar. She would not thank me for interfering. That does not mean I was not worried about her. I told Clemens to send me a message when she turned up at home, then I dispatched him and the others to their beds.
I helped Scythax tidy up and clean away the blood. I saw him put opiates ready, but our boy was still deeply unconscious. We worked silently at first; I saw the doctor relaxing. Later we sat on stools with cups of hot mulsum that someone brought us from the night kitchen. I ventured to ask Scythax about the dead man he had had on his work table when we first showed up. ‘I know a little about him, that’s why I’m curious.’
‘He is a vagrant,’ answered Scythax, as if! could have missed that.
Not likely; the smell of him was reaching us from right outside.
‘I know. Almost certainly a runaway slave. Lives in a homeless men’s commune out on the Via Appia.’
‘Musical. Is he the flautist you’ve been asking after, Falco?’
‘No. Too old, too limited in his range of tunes—and my flautist would be new to the streets. This dead fellow has been starving under bridges for years, by the look of him.’ Scythax nodded. When he volunteered nothing more, I enquired how the body came to be here.
It took him a while to respond. Still, he knew I wasn’t going away—and he also knew how friendly I was with Petronius. It was either answer me, or have Petro turn up tomorrow asking the questions, by then doubly suspicious. So he answered.
According to Scythax, the corpse had been dumped beside the patrol house gates. He said this happened from time to time. He assumed people hoped there was still life in the victim, and that he might help.
The story sounded wrong. But I could think of no other reason a vigiles doctor would have fresh corpses served up to him.
‘“Victim”?’ I asked coolly. ‘That would be as in “unnatural death”, would it?’
‘You tell me, Falco. There seemed to be nothing to show.’
Right. There was nothing to show why Scythax was so reticent either. But I heard voices outside, so I left it.
The new arrivals were our missing men, Titus and Gaudus. With them was Justinus, intensely anxious about Lentullus. I sent the legionaries home. Scythax stood up and went out, as if leaving us in private; I still felt he was trying to avoid talking to me about that corpse. He still feared I would not let the matter go.
I stared at my brother-in-law. He was now twenty-six or seven, a tall, slim, fairly fit man who had once had a career in front of him, though he had lost hope in that. He must have been able to keep himself clean at the Spy’s house, but cannot have shaved for several days. He looked strained. It was more than his dread over the legionary’s fate. Bruised circles under those dark eyes the women all fancied marred what could have been a handsome face. Among all that stubble, there was no trace of his normal wide-mouthed grin.
‘We need to talk, Quintus.’
In low, level voices, we caught up. It took a while. Justinus maintained he had not known Ganna would be at the Temple of Diana; he was just hoping to find Veleda there.
I picked up on that privately, but did not immediately demand how he had known her possible whereabouts.
During the mess with the Guards, Justinus had realised he was about to fall into Anacrites’ hands again, so he made a bolt for it. He found a secret wooden stair that led up into the roof; sometimes the goddess made a ritual ‘appearance’ to the public, displayed at a window above the portico. Titus and Gaudus saw him go, knew he was vital to our task, and quickly ran after him. Later, when it was safe to descend, they had all gone to my house, but when the others returned and said Lentullus was seriously hurt, Justinus insisted on coming here.
‘I keep remembering all we went through together in Germany.
We all said Lentullus was hopeless—but he came good, Falco.’
‘Oh I’ll never forget him, swinging on the tail of that bloody great aurochs, without a fear, while the beast plunged about and I was trying to stick a tiny knife in its neck…’
‘Heart of gold. You wanted him to keep me out of trouble—yet I ended up getting him into this. I’ll never forgive myself, Marcus. He adored you and me.’
‘We gave him the biggest and most exciting adventure of his life.
He won’t blame you.’ Justinus blamed himself, however.
I let him carry on maundering over Lentullus for a while. Then I stopped him: ‘So have you seen Veleda?’ He looked blank. It had to be an act. ‘Or had you merely been in contact with her before Anacrites had you arrested?’ He tried to sustain the innocent ploy, so I shouted, ‘Camillus Justinus, don’t mess me about!’
‘Hush!’ he remonstrated, gesturing to Lentullus. I fixed a straight glare on him. He must know I was assessing him. He must realise why. He had worked as my assistant for the past couple of years; he knew my methods. ‘All right, Falco…’ My gaze did not waver. ‘I have not seen her.’
‘Honest?’ ‘It’s the truth.’
I believed him. All his family were straight. While I had known Justinus keep things to himself-his past liaison with Veleda being one—I had never known him tell direct lies. ‘You will need to prove it to the world—so give, Quintus!’
‘Settle down. We’re partners, aren’t we? There is no necessity totreat me like a suspect.’ There was every need for it.
‘Wrong, Quintus. And if you are fooling around with Veleda, ourassociation ends right now.’
He cursed quietly. Then he told me. ‘I knew when she arrived in Italy. You were still in Greece… It was supposed to be kept quiet, but Hades, everyone in Rome was talking about it. When she was at that so-called safe house, I did try to get messages to her.’
I wanted to ask how, but first I needed to know ifI could trust him. So it was more important to know why. ‘Were you hoping to take up where you two left off?’
Justinus looked sulky. ‘There was nothing to take up.’
‘I remember,’ I said drily. ‘I can still see you now, alleging that nothing had happened between you and Veleda, when every single one of us on that ship knew it was a load of rubbish.’
‘The ship!’ he reminded me. ‘She gave us the bloody ship, Falco. She saved our lives by letting us escape down the river. Don’t you think we owe her something in return?’
‘What? Provide her with a ship to return her to Germany? No, it’s too late, Quintus. Rutilius Gallicus has brought her here and she’s stuck with her fate. We’ll all have to live with it… How did you know about the safe house?’
‘What?’
‘I want to know, Quintus. How did you know where they had put her? Did she write and tell you?’
‘She has never written to me, Falco. I don’t even know if she can write. The Celts don’t believe in writing things down; they commit important stories, facts, myths, histories to memory.’
‘Spare me the cultural lecture!… Not much point Anacrites putting up a written notice to lure her in,’ I commented, to lighten it.
‘Not much point in anything he does.’
‘How did you get on with him, when you were at his house?’ ‘Relations were cool.’
‘Did he try to recruit you?’
‘As a spy? Yes, he did. How do you know?’
‘The snake tried it on with your brother in the past. What did you answer?’
‘I said no, of course.’
‘Happy fellow. So how did you know Veleda’s whereabouts?’ I reiterated.
Justinus at last capitulated, mildly enough. ‘I know a man. Slight acquaintance, baths and gymnasium, nothing special. We nod to one another, but I wouldn’t say I ever let him strigil my back… When everyone was speculating about Veleda, I happened to mutter that I had once met her. He must have been looking for somebody safe to confide in. He was bursting to share the secret with someone—Scaeva told me.’
I took a breath so hard it hurt. ‘You know Scaeva?’
XLIII
‘Gratianus Scaeva—brother of Drusilla Gratiana? Lived at the Quadrumatus villa? You know him, Quintus?’
‘Only slightly.’
‘Scaeva was passing messages for you?’
Justinus shrugged. ‘He took letters from me. I got nothing back. Once he had given away where Veleda was, he lost his nerve fast. He was terrified of being found out. He wanted nothing more to do with me—but I kept seeking him out and insisting.’
‘Did you want a reply from the priestess? Were you trying to resume your relationship?’ Silence. ‘Come on, lad. What were you playing at?’
‘I don’t really know.’
I believed that. ‘Wonderful. Every mess in the world is caused by some idiot who can’t make up his ridiculous mind about a woman who’s not interested.’
I hit him with the information that Scaeva was dead. Quintus looked shocked. It could be genuine. I told him exactly how it had happened. Then I watched him work out the implications. ‘Do you think Veleda hacked his head off?’
My brother-in-law blew out his cheeks. ‘That’s possible.’ He had seen her amongst her tribal warriors, when they were baying for Roman blood; he knew that her place as a venerated leader depended on showing she was ruthless.
I liked the fact that he did not rush to defend her. Even so, his personal predicament was grim. Whatever assurances he gave, it looked as if he and the priestess had colluded.
‘What can you tell me about Scaeva? This is urgent, Quintus.’
‘I don’t know much. Until recently I tried to avoid him. He was always snuffling and carrying on about his health. Well, that’s unfair; he was fed up with it himself He complained that he seemed to have spent every Satumalia of his life lying sick on a couch.’
‘Well, I’m afraid it won’t happen this year.’
‘No.’ Justinus looked thoughtful. Perhaps he was considering the transience of life.
I now grilled him on how he came to think that Veleda might have been at the Temple of Diana tonight. His answer made things even more ghastly: according to him, in one of his unanswered letters, he himself suggested it as a place of refuge.
‘What happened to those letters, Quintus?’
‘I don’t know.’
I hoped Veleda had destroyed them. If not, we had to find them. We had to retrieve and obliterate them. Another dirty task for me.
The thought crossed my mind that Gratianus Scaeva might have been killed because somebody discovered he was acting as an intermediary. If so, his punishment seemed vile. Still, the perpetrator may have deliberately set out to implicate Veleda. It was the kind of trick Anacrites might play.
‘Right. Let’s get it straight: Veleda comes to Rome. You think you owe her something for saving us. You offer help; Scaeva takes the letters; she does not reply.’ She could have been carrying her reply along to Scaeva, the day Scaeva was killed. It was even possible Scaeva tried to wriggle out of taking her letter to Quintus, so that was why Veleda attacked Scaeva… Somehow I thought not. ‘Even in two weeks of freedom she has not tried to contact you, apparently. So did you give up on her, Quintus?’
He looked vague, as if he
could not accept that he and the priestess were past history.
‘Look, you can’t have seen Scaeva for over a fortnight. Scaeva has been dead all that time. Did anybody ever tell you Veleda had escaped?’
‘Anacrites. At his house this week.’
‘So tonight—you were just going to the temple on the off-chance of finding her?’
‘Yes, but the moment I spotted the Praetorians, I went frantic. I thought they must know that Veleda was definitely inside—’
‘And you know Ganna?’
‘Never met the girl.’ How many men had sworn that old lie to me?
Justinus saw me thinking it. ‘Marcus, Lentullus and I had talked, today at Fountain Court. He told me about Ganna being brought to Rome with the priestess. When the guards pulled her out of hiding, I guessed who she was… What will happen to her?’
‘I don’t know. Your big sister went with her, if that helps.’ Justinus looked relieved. I felt slightly less confident: Helena would do all she could, but Anacrites was a bitter, single-minded foe. Nonetheless, Quintus and I shared a momentary smile, as we thought of Helena defying him. The first time I met him, Helena and I had yet to become lovers and she was giving me all Hades of a time. Her brother and I had bonded quickly, both overshadowed by her fierce spirit, both adoring her eccentric resolution.
I felt exhausted. I said I had to go home to see if there was news of Helena. I put Justinus on parole to remain at the station house with Lentullus—to stay there whatever happened to the injured soldier overnight. He agreed the conditions. I was almost past caring.
Just as I left, he surprised me. I glanced back from the door, raising a weary arm in salutation. Then Justinus suddenly asked me, ‘How is Claudia?’
I took it as hopeful. Mind you, right when I first met him, I had noticed that Camillus Justinus had extremely good manners and a kind heart.
SATURNALIA, DAY TWO
Fifteen days before the Kalends of January (18 December)
Saturnalia Page 24