‘It looks dangerous for you as well as for Petro.’
‘Love, this investigation was always dangerous.’
‘Are you carrying on with it?’
‘Yes.’
‘How are you going to manage if Petronius won’t see you?’
‘He’ll calm down.’
Seeing that I did not intend to discuss the quarrel further, she stopped talking. One thing I liked about Helena was that she knew when not to pry. She had her own interests, which helped. Then if she ever did want to fight, she liked to blow up nonsense out of nothing. Things that were really important could be handled more sensibly.
Over breakfast, she seemed rather quiet. Maybe that was my fault. Even warm honey was failing to soothe me; I had had hardly any sleep and felt like sludge in the Great Sewer. I noticed Helena neither ate nor drank. That made me feel worse. She was pregnant, and I was ignoring it. The more bravely she endured her plight, the more guilt made me grouse.
‘Are you still being sick?’ She just shrugged. I had been decreed too busy to be kept informed. Dear gods, I wanted this trouble to be over so I could attend to my own life. ‘Listen, if I want to be companionable and concerned, you might try helping!’
‘It’s all right. You’re a man. Just be yourself.’
‘That’s what I was doing. But I can probably be boorish, callous and insensitive if you prefer.’
‘I’ll bear with you while you’re learning to do it.’ She smiled. Suddenly she was winsome again.
I refused to be charmed. ‘Don’t worry. I learn quickly.’
Helena Justina restrained herself, plainly making allowances for the tetchiness that had followed my falling out with my best friend. This only made me more angry, but she found a new subject to talk about: ‘I haven’t had a chance to tell you, Marcus. Yesterday when I came home another message about Tertulla was pinned in a bag on the door. And this…’ She reached to a shelf and produced a gold object. I recognised the overflown bulla that my sister Galla had hung around her daughter’s neck, the amulet which was supposed to protect Tertulla from the evil eye. Its powers had been sorely overtaxed. Now some fool had sent the useless thing to me.
‘So they’re telling us this is genuine. What are they asking me to cough up?’ Even to my own ears I still sounded gruff.
‘A thousand sesterces.’
‘Do you happen to know what they asked from your father?’
Helena looked apologetic. ‘Ten thousand.’
‘That’s all right. When they come down to a hundred I might consider it.’
‘You’re all heart, Marcus!’
‘Don’t worry. I suspect they know they grabbed the wrong child this time. There’s no money, but they don’t want to lose face.’
‘If they reduced the price once they may be weakening,’ Helena said. ‘They seem like amateurs. People who knew what they were doing would pile pressure on us, then keep asking for more and more.’
‘I don’t belittle the situation, but we may as well not panic. Are there any instructions in the message?’
‘No just the price they want.’ She was so reluctant to bother me she had not even let me see the message. Luckily I could trust Helena to tell me anything relevant. It was a relief to let her handle this. Even though I was in a filthy mood, I managed to feel some gratitude.
‘We’ll hear from them again, I’m sure. Sweetheart, if I’m too busy, do you think you can watch for the next contact?’
‘Does that mean I should stay at home?’ Helena sounded doubtful.
‘Why? Have you an appointment to hear an epic poem in sixteen scrolls?’
‘Certainly not. I did want to try that other house where a child is supposed to have been taken.’
‘No luck yesterday?’
‘I was told the woman was not at home.’
‘True, or a fable?’
‘I couldn’t tell. Since they were being polite they implied I could try another time, so I shall make sure I do.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘Marcus, when the amulet was left there, I found myself thinking about the skip baby. Remember, he had a broken thread around his neck. Maybe it’s a kidnap victim too. These people I haven’t managed to see yet were supposed to have lost a baby. It was reported by the child’s nurse. Maybe they will listen to me if I can tell them he’s been found.’
Suddenly I experienced a huge pang of regret that she and I were not working together. I reached for her hands. ‘Would it help if I came with you?’
‘I should say not.’ Helena smiled at me. ‘With due respect, Marcus, at the house in question an informer would be someone to eject. I’m trying to cross the private bastions of a very important magistrate.’
A thought struck me. ‘What’s his name?’
Helena told me. My lawyers advise me not to mention it; I don’t want a libel action. Besides, men like that get enough publicity.
I laughed throatily. ‘Well, if you can use the information, I last saw the most excellent personage in question having his fancy tickled by a high-class prostitute.’
She looked worried, and then perhaps offended. One of the reasons I had always loved her so dearly was that Helena Justina was absolutely straight. The idea of blackmailing a man who was entitled to wear the purple toga to show his distinction would never cross her mind.
‘Which brothel was it, Marcus?’
‘I promise I’ve only been in one you know about – Plato’s Academy.’
‘That’s interesting,’ said Helena. She was trying to make it significant.
I knew that game. I had been in the enquiry business longer than she had. I let her dream.
LI
Mentioning Plato’s had given me an idea.
Reluctant to work on my own if it proved unnecessary, I did take myself first to the Thirteenth-district patrol house to see if Petro would acknowledge me. Neither he nor any of his team were there. When I tried to go in, a couple of firefighters appeared. They seemed not to know about my job tracing grafters, but someone had ordered them not to admit me. I tried to look unimpressed by their surly behaviour, though I confess it shook me.
I realised afterwards that Petronius and his men would be attending the funeral of Linus. The patrolmen must have thought it odd that I had not gone myself.
Had Petro and I not quarrelled I would have paid my own respects. It seemed better to avoid causing trouble, so I honoured the dead man privately. He was young and had seemed straightforward. He deserved a better fate.
I walked down to the Circus, made my way to Plato’s, and with more skill than I had applied at the patrol house, I talked my way inside. An expert informer is not easily thrown. I even managed to get myself taken straight to see Lalage.
* * *
It was still early morning and not much seemed to be happening. The brothel was in a lethargic mood. Just a few local clients indulging on their way to their employment, and at the time I arrived, mostly leaving. The corridors were empty; it could have been a lodging house, except that at certain points stood mounds of wilting garlands or neatly stacked empty amphorae waiting to be taken out. There was some general cleaning with mops and sponges going on, but quietly. The night shift needed their sleep, presumably.
Lalage herself must have been snatching a rest between clients. Since a prostitute works on her back – well, often horizontally – Lalage’s idea of a rest was not to relax on a reading couch with a Virgilian eclogue, but to climb up steps and replenish the oil in a large icon ceiling light.
‘I know,’ I grinned. ‘You can’t trust slaves to do anything.’
‘Slaves here have other duties, with my customers.’ She swayed slightly, nearly going off balance as she tilted her jug against the last lamp. The effect was decorously erotic, though probably unintentional. I stepped closer and prepared to place a steadying hand on her backside, though when she managed to remain upright modesty stayed my helpful paw. ‘You’re Falco, aren’t you?’
‘Fame at last.’
�
�Notoriety,’ she answered. Something in her manner told me this might be the kind of notoriety I could do without.
‘In the wrong quarters? I had a visit from the Miller and Little Icarus. Do you know that pair?’
‘Nasty. I barred them.’
‘I’m not surprised. I’ve seen your respectable clients…’ She did not react. It would take a determined niggler to worry Lalage. ‘My two visitors came to threaten me. Obviously my name is being mentioned in rougher circles than I like.’ I was trying to obtain some sign that she was in contact with the Balbinus gang; her response was completely negative.
I offered a wrist to lean on as she descended from her perch, oil flask on the drip. She stepped down, brushing against me with a firm body warm through a single layer of finely woven cloth. ‘And what does the notorious Marcus Didius want with me?’
‘Marcus? That’s informal! When I called with Petronius, I don’t believe we got on first-name terms. Has someone well informed been talking, or might you and I be old friends?’
Lalage gave me the full benefit of those wonderful eyes. ‘Oh hardly!’
‘I’m crushed! By the way, you can stop flashing the peepers. They’re lovely, but it’s too early in the morning for me – or not early enough. I like a roll in the sheets instead of breakfast, but I like it with a woman who has been in my arms all night.’
‘I’ll put that in our scroll of client’s preferences.’
‘I’m not enrolled as a client.’
‘Want to negotiate terms?’
‘Sorry, can’t afford it. I’m saving up to go to philosophy school.’
‘Don’t bother. You ramble on enough, without paying to be taught.’
She was still too close for comfort. I resisted manfully. We fought eye to eye; she must have known I was afraid she would manhandle me. The hairs on my neck were standing as stiff as a badger’s bristles. It was hard to look tough when every nerve was screaming to me to protect my assets from assault – but the assault never came. For a brothel queen Lalage was surprisingly delicate.
‘I want to negotiate a truce,’ I croaked. She received the news with a chortle, but waved me to a couch with her. Breathing more freely, I perched on the far end. She tipped her head back, surveying me. She had a long, smooth neck, today unadorned by jewellery. Her eyelashes swept down and up again with the strength and fluid grace of trireme oars.
I sighed gently. ‘Stop acting up like Thaïs. Your name’s Rillia Gratiana. Your parents used to keep a stationer’s shop on the corner of Dogfish Court.’
She did not deny it. Nor did she encourage me. Appealing to old memories would be no help. ‘I keep this brothel, Falco. I do it well. I run the girls, I control the clients, I organise salty entertainments; I keep the ledgers and I obtain the necessary licences; I pay the rent, and I pay the grocery bills; when I have to I even sweep the stairs and lance the doorman’s boils. This is my life.’
‘And the past is irrelevant?’
‘Not at all. My parents gave me all my local knowledge and commercial acumen.’
‘Do you still see them?’
‘They died years ago.’
‘Want to know how I know all about you?’
‘Don’t bother. You’re an informer. Even if you tell me some sob story, I won’t be impressed.’
‘I thought a brothel was the place men told the truth about themselves?’
‘Men never tell the truth, Falco.’
‘Ah no, we don’t know what truth is … So can I call on fellow feeling?’
‘No,’ she said. That was even before she remembered how she came by her wounded ear. She was clearly not thinking about it, though seeing the scar again, I felt a warm sense of nostalgia.
We were both professionals. For different reasons we were attuned to the surges of communication – in my case talk, in hers the other thing. A cycle in this conversation had exhausted itself. By mutual agreement we gave up and relaxed.
I would have said neither of us had given any ground in the repartee stage, but then Lalage started playing with the clasp of a bracelet fretfully. Maybe she was weakening. (Maybe the arm decoration just had a tricky hook and loop.) ‘So what do you want?’ she asked again.
‘To give you a word from a friend.’
‘Oh?’
‘You’re driving me mad with that thing. Take it off and I’ll mend it.’ Surprised, she gave up trying to fix the bracelet and tossed it in my lap. It was a gorgeous bauble: fine gold scrollwork in sections, holding pale emeralds. Expensive, but ruined by the usual trashy clasp. ‘Got some tweezers?’ She provided me with a handsome set, six or seven assorted toiletry tools on a ring. ‘Jewellers are stupid bastards.’ I was working on a bent piece of gold wire that needed to be reshaped. ‘They spend hours of labour on the fancy parts, but begrudge a decent hook. That should hold. If you like the piece, get a new fastener.’ I held out my hand for her arm. When I had replaced the bracelet on her scented wrist, I kept hold of her. My grip was friendly, but inescapable. She made no attempt to break away; prostitutes know when to avoid hurting themselves. I looked straight at her. ‘Balbinus is in Rome.’
Her fine eyes narrowed. It was impossible to tell whether she was hearing this for the first time, or merely wished me to think so. Her mouth pursed. ‘That’s bad news.’
‘For everyone. Have any vigiles been to see you?’
‘Not since you and your long friend.’ I felt I could believe her when she was being factual. That could be a trick, of course.
‘You can see the implications?’
‘Not exactly. Balbinus is condemned. What can he do, Falco?’
‘Quite a lot, it seems. The Fourth Cohort have been busting themselves trying to work out who was trying to replace him – when all the time nobody was. Everything that’s happened lately could be down to him.’
‘Like what?’
‘The Emporium raid, and the one at the Saepta. The deaths. You have presumably heard about the deaths?’
‘Whose deaths are these?’ she murmured, deliberately provoking me.
‘Don’t come it.’
There was no visible hardening; she remained the polite courtesan. But she said, without any change of tone, ‘If you don’t want to pay for mauling me, would you mind letting go of my wrist?’
I gave her a stare, then opened my hand abruptly, fingers splayed. She waited a beat, then took back her arm.
‘I want to talk about Balbinus,’ I said.
‘And I don’t.’
I looked at her carefully, seeing past the elegant attire, the fine paintwork on her eyelids and lashes, the allure of the gorgeous body. There were tiny lines and dark patches around those languorous, limpid brown eyes. ‘You’re tired. The brothel’s very quiet this morning too. What’s up, Lalage? Having to work overtime at nights? Why’s this? Someone squeezing you? Can it be that the profit margins of the Bower of Venus are being reduced by having to pay a managing director’s fee again?’
‘Take a jump in the river, Falco.’
‘I’m surprised. I thought you enjoyed your independence, lass. I must admit, I respected you for it. I can’t believe Balbinus just turned up and asked for a cut, and you gave it to him!’
‘Don’t even think it. I wouldn’t give him half an as if he was bursting for the lavatory. Balbinus can’t pressure me these days. He’s condemned. If he’s in Rome he’ll have to stay in hiding, or he’s for it.’
‘Execution,’ I agreed. Then I challenged her: ‘So you’re not concealing him on the premises?’
She laughed.
I decided to accept her version. I had believed her when she talked of running the brothel without a protector. ‘You still ought to take an interest,’ I warned. ‘Someone must be helping him, but if it’s not you, you fall into the other category.’
‘And what’s that, Falco?’
‘His enemies.’
There was a pause. Lalage had always been intelligent, top of the class when she went to school; I happene
d to know that. Finally she rasped, ‘You’re talking about deaths again.’
‘Nonnius Albius,’ I confirmed. She must have known about his killing. ‘And the doctor who convinced Nonnius he was dying, the one who frightened him so much he felt prepared to turn Balbinus in. That was wrong, incidentally. The vigiles had set him up.’
I was hoping to shock her into making revelations but it was Lalage who surprised me. She laughed again, though somewhat bitterly. ‘Not entirely,’ she said. Enjoying the thrill of seeing me startled, she stretched as gracefully as a panther; the action was automatic, not meant to be enticing, but I had to control myself. She smiled wryly. ‘It would only have been a set-up if Nonnius hadn’t known about it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nonnius realised all along that the Fourth Cohort had sent that doctor to lie to him.’
Luckily Petronius Longus was no longer speaking to me, so I would be spared having to tell him this depressing news.
LII
‘It’s old history,’ Lalage confessed. ‘What’s the difference now Nonnius is dead? Who cares?’
‘Balbinus cares!’ I rapped back tersely. ‘And so should you.’
‘I don’t see it.’
‘You will when a gang of killers bursts in one night, and drags you off by the hair.’
‘I’ll wear a wig for a few days…’ Flippancy was not her style. She knew her limits and it did not last. ‘This is a brothel. I thought you would have noticed that! We have a system to keep out hooligans.’
‘Jupiter, I’ve seen your security! Macra busy counting the money, and a half-asleep hangdog who dies if you raise your voice to him? Nonnius had an armoured door. They broke in with artillery; it was a military raid.’
‘Well thanks. Now I know what we have to be ready for.’ She was unimpressed. She stretched her leg, dangling her sandal from a lithe instep. The footgear had a light sole but a substantial upper, the kind that is completely cut out in one piece of leather, then its myriad thongs tied up on top. Not a walking shoe, but that would not have troubled her. What troubled me was that it was being dangled from a very pretty foot.
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