I returned his stare levelly. "The recipients would be on watch for the wrong set of behaviour?" He made no reply. "The man-eater might be mishandled. Imagine the scene: Leonidas had been accustomed to making journeys in a small travelling cage, and he knew what to expect at the end of it: the arena--and men for him to eat. He was hungry that night; his keeper told me so. On being released from the cage, strangers might unwittingly give him signal... that set off his training. He normally looked quiet, even friendly, but once he thought he was supposed to attack he would go for whoever he saw--perhaps even kill them""
"When he started rampaging, people would panic," Helena said.
"Anyone who was armed," I went on, "would have to try to kill the lion. A gladiator, for instance."
Finally Saturninus made a slight gesture with his hand. It merely said my suggestion was feasible. It did not say he had ever seen it happen. He would never confess that.
I still had no certain knowledge why Leonidas had been taken from his cage that night, where he went, or who was with him on his journey and at its violent aftermath. But I was convinced that I had just worked out how he came to die.
XXX
DID IT MATTER?
I toyed with a bunch of grape stems that had been mislaid among the lushly fringed spread on my feeding couch. Was I eccentric to care? Was my obsession with Leonidas unhealthy and pointless? Or was I right, and the noble beast's fate should be as significant to a civilised man as any unexplained killing of a fellow human being?
When Saturninus said that sending a man-eater in place of an untrained lion was dangerous, for a rare moment he had failed to keep his voice calm. Was he remembering the killing? And if he was present, was he in any way responsible for the whole sinister farce? He had already claimed he and Euphrasia had dined with the ex-praetor Urtica that night. I thought him easily the sort of man who knows that the best lies are closest to the truth; the truth could be not that Saturninus possessed a respectable alibi, but far worse: that poor Leonidas had also been the praetor's guest.
Pomponius Urtica had a new, "wild" girlfriend; he might want to impress her He was keen on the Circus; he was close to the lanistae. Saturninus for one seemed to view Urtica as a contact with useful influence. The man's status could be about to evaporate, however. If he had used his house for a private display, he was open to blackmail. If it were ever made known that he had commissioned death for domestic entertainment, then he would be destroyed politically.
Saturninus would of course cover up for him. This could be it: first he had indulged the man by secretly arranging some sort of combat" Then, when the display went wrong, Saturninus had boldly made the best of it. By saving the magistrate's reputation, he would acquire a patron with a permanent debt.
I was beginning to understand. One aspect I saw immediately was that anyone who threatened to expose the people involved was courting danger. Urtica was politically powerful. Saturninus kept a troupe of trained killers. He had been a gladiator himself; if crossed, he looked as if he could still avenge himself quite efficiently.
Across the space where the tables had been, now an expanse of newly swept geometric mosaic tiles, Helena Justina had observed me brooding. She held my gaze until my mood lightened, then she smiled quietly. I was feeling the strain of my cold. I would have liked to be taken home, but it was still too early to retire. Hospitality held us in its relentless grip.
Saturninus had been giving his attention to a bowl of nuts. Now he looked up suddenly and, as people do when you want to be left alone to snuffle, he insisted on making me share his vivacity. "So, Falco! The word is you're making my old partner Calliopus hop!"
This was the last subject I wanted to discuss. I applied the necessary discreet smile. "That's privileged information."
"I bet he's cheating the Censor to Hades and back." "He has employed an accountant with flair."
"But you're thwarting them?"
My irritation was hard to check. "Saturninus, you're too intelligent to think you can give me dinner then expect me to leak secrets."
I knew better than to discuss my report with anyone, even Calliopus himself: From what I knew of bureaucracy it was perfectly possible for Falco & Partner to substantiate a million-sesterces fraud, yet still to encounter some slimy high-powered bureaucrat who would decide there were policy reasons, or ancient precedents, or issues affecting his own pension, that made him advise his great imperial master to shelve the expose.
Saturninus never gave up. "The rumour in the Forum is that Calliopus looks miserable."
"That," interrupted Helena Justina calmly, "will be because his wife has found out about his mistress'" She smoothed the cover of the cushion she was leaning on. "He must be afraid Artemisia will insist on him following her to Surrentum at this awful time of year."
"Is that what you would have arranged, Helena?" asked Euphrasia, with a sidelong glance at me.
"No," said Helena. "If I was departing Rome because my husband had offended me, I would either leave the notice of divorce propped against his feeding bowl--or he would be right there in the carriage with me so I could tell him what I thought."
Saturninus seemed honestly puzzled. "You would do as your husband directed."
"I doubt it," said Helena.
Saturninus looked affronted for a moment, as though he were not used to a woman disagreeing with him--though from our observations that evening at table, he was just as used to it as anyone. Then he decided to duck the issue with more nosy questions. "So! Now Calliopus must await the results of your enquiries!"
I looked him straight in the eye. "No peace for me and my partner. We're conducting a composite audit, not just random checks."
"What does that mean?" smiled Saturninus.
I had a stinking cold, but I was nobody's helpless sparring stake. I made it pleasant, since we were dining in his house: "It means you're next."
For the rest of the evening we discussed where to buy garlands in December, religion, pepper, and the wilder sidebranches of formal epic poetry. Very nice. I let Helena do the work" She had been brought up to shine in society. A man with his head blocked so he can only breathe through his teeth is entitled to sink down scowling and pretend to be an uneducated Aventine pig.
"Helena Justina is admirably erudite," Saturninus complimented me. "And she speaks of pepper as if she owned a whole warehouse!"
She did. I wondered if he had somehow found out. If not, I had no intention of revealing her private wealth.
I had thought Helena might want to ask Saturninus and Euphrasia what they knew about silphium. They came from the right continent, its geographical habitat. But Saturninus was not a man into whose hands she would deliver her younger brother. Justinus was no innocent, but he was a fugitive, therefore vulnerable. It was unlikely Camillus Justinus would ever seek to join a troupe of gladiators--although it was not unknown for the sons of senators to take that course when desperate for cash, or a defiant new life. The thought of our missing lad catching the lanista's eye was creepily suggestive. This was an entrepreneur, a procurer of men. Saturninus would acquire--for any purposes--anyone who seemed useful to him.
That was why we were here tonight.
Had I needed proof; it was to come as we were leaving. In the course of what seemed like a harmless chat about how professional poets in Rome have to operate through patronage or starve, I had let slip that I myself wrote for relaxation. Always a mistake. People want to know if your work has been copied up by scrollsellers, or if you have given readings socially. Saying no shrinks your standing; saying yes makes their eyes glaze defensively. Though I mentioned that I sometimes toyed with the idea of hiring a hall to give an evening of my love poems and satires, it was said ruefully. Everyone, including me, was convinced it was a dream.
I spoke from the clear assumption that self-respect debarred me from toadying to some wealthier man as his client. I would never consent to be a mere commodity, and I wasn't the type to enjoy being grateful. Saturninus liv
ed in a different world and seemed unaware of my attitude: "That's an attractive idea, Falco! I always hankered to expand into something more cultured--I'll invest in your venue with pleasure--"
I let it slide past me as if I had become too feverish to respond. This had seemed a long evening; it was time to go. I needed to be safely back in our litter before I lost my temper. Our host was an entrepreneur all right: the bastard was openly trying to procure me.
XXXI
I WAS BILIOUS all night. It led to a severe outbreak of prejudice. Helena told me that houses which present visitors with a sparkling surface generally have old gravy crusting the cauldrons. The more refined the soiree, the more certain to be rats under the cooking bench. Well, something had polluted my guts.
"Poison!"
"Oh Marcus, don't exaggerate."
"The ostrich, the Sacred Geese of Juno--and now me."
"You have a bad cold, and you've eaten strange food tonight."
"In circumstances where indigestion was inevitable."
I climbed back into bed, where Helena patiently held me in her arms, stroking my hot forehead. "I found our hosts curiously likable," she told me, trying not to yawn too much. "So, are you going to tell me what made you so irascible?"
"I was rude?"
"You're an informer."
"You mean I was very rude?"
"Perhaps a little tetchy and suspicious." She was laughing.
"That's because the only people who invite us out are even lower in society--and even they only do it when they want something."
"Saturninus was pretty obvious," Helena agreed. "Probing him in return was like trying to poke a hole in an iron bar with a dandelion stem."
"I did pry something out of him." I told Helena my theory about the death of Leonidas having taken place at Urtica's house.
She listened in silence, then remained still for some moments, testing what I had said for herself and considering the implications. "Was it Saturninus himself who speared the lion?"
"I would say not. He has always admitted he took Rumex with him--besides, the anonymous message to Anacrites specifically blamed Rumex."
"Even if Rumex killed the poor beast, Saturninus must take responsibility" He organised the party. Who do you think sent the message?"
"It could have been Calliopus, but I still believe he wants this hushed up For one thing, it gives him a hold over Saturninus--and he wants to keep it to himself too. It's good blackmail material. The pet praetor will be in big trouble if it ever gets out that he had a gladiator performing in his house--not to mention causing the death of a Circus man-eater, who was perhaps stolen at the time."
"But you said Calliopus knew of the escapade in advance."
"Yes, but he wasn't intended to know."
Exhausted, I lay prone while Helena pondered. "If the story gets out, Calliopus will disclaim all connection." Her breath tickled my forehead" Wonderful. "He can't have been directly involved--the lion's death did genuinely disconcert both Calliopus and his keeper."
"Yes; neither Calliopus nor Buxus had been aware that Leonidas was dead until he was found the next morning in his cage."
"So we can rule out Calliopus also being at this unsavoury patty at the ex-praetor's house. Marcus, it was odd though that the keeper failed to hear the lion being taken away and returned. Maybe Buxus had been bribed by Saturninus to let him remove an animal--Draco, supposedly. But instead, maybe Buxus was loyal to Calliopus, told him the plan, and they worked the switch to cause trouble. . ."
I pretended to drift off to sleep, to end the discussion. I did not want Helena to work around to my own fear: that if Saturninus thought he had told me too much, he would decide I was dangerous. I did not know the form if a lanista took out a contract on a human enemy--but I had seen what he could do to somebody's ostrich I did not want to be found with my head dangling and my legs all limp.
Next morning Helena kept me at home again. Later, she took me to the baths. Glaucus my trainer found the sight of me with my strict female escort a huge joke.
"Can't you blow your own nose now? And Jupiter, Falco, where have you been? I heard you were working with the Circus crowd. I've been expecting you to rush in here claiming to be undercover on some vitally important mission, and demanding to be brought up to scratch to play at gladiators--"
"Glaucus, you know I'm too sensible"" Actually, going undercover in that way might be a good idea--though I could think of somebody I would rather send to the arena: my dear partner Anacrites.
Glaucus used a laugh I didn't care for. "There's an even more unpleasant rumour that you're really weazling for the Censors, Falco, but I don't want to hear your excuse about that."
I pottered off to see his barber, a sleek fellow who took off two days' growth with an expression as if he were cleaning a drain. His expertise with a Spanish razor was the envy of the Forum, and the fee Glaucus charged for him matched his skill. Helena calmly paid. The barber took her money as if he was mortally offended to see a man fall into feminine clutches. He had a way of smiling that was not much better than his master's laugh. I did my best to sneeze all over him.
We went home I started shivering, and volunteered to go to bed again. I slept soundly for hours, then awoke much refreshed. The baby was asleep or absorbed in her own little world. The dog was just asleep. When Helena came to peek at me, she saw me awake and snuggled up beside me to be sociable.
It was a quiet afternoon, too cold outside for much active street life. Most of the time neither voices nor hoofbeats sounded down in Fountain Court, and our bedroom had an interior aspect so noises from further away could hardly penetrate. The basket-weaver in the shop downstairs had already locked up for a few weeks and gone to the country to enjoy Saturnalia; not that Ennianus or his customers ever made much disturbance.
Lying in bed was soothing, though I had had enough sleep. I did not yet want to start thinking about work, although I wanted to think about something. These few snatched moments with Helena posed a suitable challenge. Pretty soon I had her giggling as I set out to demonstrate that the parts of me that were not befuddled by my cold were even livelier than usual.
Winter does have some advantages.
An hour later I was soundly asleep again, when the world began waking up. The light was fading into dusk; all the Aventine bad people were banging their doors and leaving home to cause trouble. Young boys who ought to have been going home came kicking balls against apartment walls with all the force of seige engines. Dogs barked. Pans rattled on griddles. From overcrowded homes all around us the familiar scent of very old cooking oil, infused with burnt fragments of garlic, began to waft skywards.
Our baby started crying as if she thought she had been abandoned for ever. I stirred. Helena left me and went to Julia, just as a visitor arrived. For a few moments Helena managed to fend him off, but then she opened the door a crack and put round her head. She had one hand pushing in a comb to try and right her tangled hairstyle.
"Marcus, if you feel up to it, I think you'll want to come and see Anacrites."
She knew that even when healthy I never felt up to that confrontation. The restrained way she spoke told me there was something up. Still luxuriating in drowsiness after our lovemaking, I mouthed you're beautiful! , to enjoy the sensation of being suggestive out of sight of Anacrites.
Helena was keeping him out, as if the rumpled scene of our passion ought to remain private. I nodded to show I would dress and join them.
Helena then said quietly: "Anacrites has brought some news. Rumex, the gladiator, has been found dead."
XXXII
WE HAD LOST the best part of a day.
"Olympus!" complained Anacrites, as I dragged him in my wake past the Temple of Ceres on my way down from the Aventine. "What's special about the death of a gladiator, Falco?"
"Don't pretend you can't see it. Why bother to tell me at all, if you think it's a natural occurrence? Jupiter" Rumex was fighting fit, in every sense. I met him. He was as solid as a
frontier rampart--"
"Maybe he caught your cold."
"Rumex would soon scare off a little cold" I was ready to ignore it myself now. My windpipe was on fire, but I was holding back the cough even though I was agitated and hurrying Helena had flung my Gallic coat over me, and topped it off with a hat. I would live--unlike the darling of the arena crowds. "this fever isn't fatal, Anacrites--however much you would like to think so in my case."
"Don't be unfair--" He tripped on a kerbstone, which made me smile with satisfaction; he had stubbed his toe so hard it would go black and shed the nail. I jumped down the middle stairs three at a time and let him follow as best he could,
At the barracks a large crowd had gathered. A tall pair of perfectly matched cypress trees in handsome stone urns had been set either side of the gate. There, a solemn porter was receiving small commemorative tributes with apparently sincere thanks, moving on with discreet efficiency from one donor to the next. The crowd was mainly composed of women, on the whole silent though occasionally emitting thin cries of distress.
While I lay ill, Anacrites had already begun auditing the Saturninus empire; as we walked, he had told me that our work would be taking place not here, but at the office of an untrustworthily helpful accountant whose office was on the other side of town. That had not surprised me. Saturninus knew all the subtle tricks of being difficult. However, our audit gave us a useful right of entry to any of his property. When we ordered them to let us into the barracks, they did.
Inside the gate, out of sight from the street, the mourners' tributes were being stripped open on a table, the valuables removed methodically and the trash dumped in a large bin for later disposal.
I led Anacrites directly around the various courtyards to the cell where Rumex used to live. The minders who had dallied with Maia and Helena were missing. In their place, guarding a heavily locked door, were a couple of beef-ox colleagues of the dead man.
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