"To Pyro and Splice?"
"Yes." She paused. Chloris lived at the crude end of society; she had seen much envy and anger in action. Even so, she shuddered when she talked about murder. "Pyro and Splice grabbed the Briton. It looked as if they had planned it. When their leader gave the signal they picked him straight up, turned him over, and dragged him off out the back. He must have known that he couldn't trust that group, but he stood no chance."
"Of course you couldn't see what went on out in the yard?"
"I didn't need to. They poked him in the well and left him there. Everyone heard about it the next day-anyway, I saw the way they laughed when they came back into the bar."
"Who took away the neck torque?"
"Pyro, I suppose. He is the swag-carrier."
"But you're not sure?"
"No, I didn't see for certain."
"Don't get clever, then," I warned. "Tell me only what you saw yourself. What happened next?"
"What do you think happened, darling? The bar emptied like magic. Everyone knows what reputation Pyro and Splice have. I lit out of there just ahead of the crowd. I wasn't going to be found spying on that lot. If I didn't know you, I'd be making sure I forgot about it. I know what's good for me!"
I sat quiet.
Chloris had absorbed my mood. "This is bad stuff."
"The whole of Londinium seems to be full of bad stuff. Chloris, I need to know about this man, your would-be manager-" "I knew you would ask."
"Sorry to be predictable."
"Ah, you don't change…" I had no idea what that meant. "He's a mystery" she said. "He turns up out of nowhere when he wants to have a go at us. We don't know where he's staying, though we know he came from Rome. He has Rome written all over him, and I don't mean the pretty parts. He never even says his name. He demands to take us over- and makes it very clear that he'll be very unpleasant if we keep saying no."
"Can you describe him?"
"He's a nonentity."
"That doesn't help, Chloris."
"No-could be any man! She giggled. "Don't ask me. I only look at men I might go to bed with, darling."
"Try, please."
"He's nothing, Falco. If you passed him in the Via Flaminia you wouldn't look twice at him."
"So how and why does this unobtrusive bastard get to worry you so much?"
"Silent threat. But I'll get him."
"Be careful. Leave this to the professionals. I'm here to go after these gangsters-and as a matter of fact, so is my old friend Petronius."
"Well, I'm chuffed to hear that," Chloris muttered derisively. "You remember Petro?"
"I remember the two of you, mucking about like idiots."
I smiled, but I was thinking hard. "Chloris, would you be prepared to make a statement about the killing?"
"Why not? For you, I can be a witness."
"I warn you, if you give us a formal deposition, it will be dangerous."
"Oh, you'll take care of me!" I would try.
"Is that it, darling?" she murmured. She sounded like a girl who had been let down by a man in bed.
"Unless you can think of anything else helpful?"
"No. So are you coming home with me now?"
"We've had our chat."
"When was chatting any fun?"
"Sorry. I have other things to do."
She stood up, not pushing it. "I won't intrude, then! Another time…"
Chloris could take a rebuff now, apparently. I remembered when my saying no would have been a challenge. But in those days she had known that I really wanted to be won over.
She marched off, swinging along the pavement with the easy stride of a trained athlete. I sat on for a moment.
Suddenly I had a witness. This was not all good news. I could arrest Pyro and Splice when I wanted, and interrogate the pair of them… That was all I could do. If they failed to crack, I was nowhere.
I had a witness, sure enough. At least she had described what happened that night. But I could never use her statement. Chloris was a gladiator-legally infamous. Information from her was even worse than information from a slave. If she made us a hundred statements, she could not appear in court. Any good lawyer, especially a crooked one, would have a fine time in his speech for the defense, if someone of her low calling-and female too-was our only source of evidence.
I stood up to leave. The proprietor must have sensed it; he had appeared behind his counter. I wondered how long he had been there, but he did not look like a man who had overheard the story Chloris told. "Anything else, sir?" he asked me deferentially.
"No thanks." I still had not touched my food. "The Cradle in the Tree," I said, looking up at his sign, where a yellow crib among a few spindly twigs made its faded point. "That's an unusual shop name!"
He just smiled and murmured, "It was called that when I took over."
Names given to foodshops were starting to be of some interest to me.
XXIX
Wanting to think, I sneaked back into the residence unobtrusively. Avoiding areas of the house where I might encounter people, I found my way to an upper reception room that had doors onto a long balcony over the formal garden. There I ensconced myself on a long, low sunbed in the shade. I could hear fountains below, and the occasional midday cheeps of hot little sparrows as they splashed in the half-evaporated fountain bowls. With a cool drink, this could have been a perfect way to pass the afternoon. Unfortunately, on my way up here I had not acquired a drink.
The day was so warm, I could have been in Rome. (If only!) You could feel the difference. Too much flower and tree pollen was thickening the air, the scent of August roses was rising from the garden below me, amid hints of the countryside close by-yet no scent of pines. Too much sense of a big river estuary, with seagulls sometimes calling as they scavenged around the moored ships. Anyone could tell that Londinium was a port. And it felt a foreign one.
The sunbed on which I was lying had dampness in its thin pallet. It had been left in storage until this heat wave was well established, as if people feared the good weather would be fleeting. Garden furniture needed to be mobile in Britain; when people moved out among the flowerbeds below, I could hear the legs of chairs scraping the gravel as they brought equipment and arranged themselves.
It was Maia and Aelia Camilla. I would have slipped indoors, but I could hear that they had been talking about how Maia found Petronius to tell him about his daughters' deaths. Perhaps that was what had improved their relationship; my sister and the procurator's wife were today gossiping more freely than before. Their voices rose clearly to where I was sitting. I refused to have a conscience about eavesdropping; they should have been more discreet.
"It was a bad moment, Maia-have a cushion, dear-don't blame him for being offhand."
"Oh, I don't. It just seems he deals more easily with my children than with me."
"You should worry if he can only deal with you through your children."
"Yes. Well, that's me-a mother!" Maia's crisp retort echoed around the enclosed garden. Her voice dropped. "That is the only way anyone expects to treat me."
"There speaks a noble matron." It sounded as if Aelia Camilla had smiled sadly. "Once we have the children… Of course, for a bride with her first husband at least there is a period when you deal with each other as adults. You never quite lose that."
Aelia Camilla had a batch of children now; there was at least one set of twins. Maia must have done some arithmetic, because she demanded quizzically, "Your first baby was a long time coming, wasn't she?"
"Flavia. Yes. We waited a few years to be blessed with Flavia."
"And you never knew why…"
"It seemed inexplicable," Aelia Camilla agreed. Something was going on here.
"So, were you making sure that you wanted to have them?" My sister could be so blunt it was rude.
To my surprise, the procurator's wife took it well. "Maia Favonia, don't accuse me of devious practices!" She sounded amused.
"Oh, I d
on't!" Maia was also laughing. "Though I am wondering, does Gaius Flavius know?"
"You won't expect me to answer that." Aelia Camilla was a clever woman. Her polite manner made her seem stuffy, though I had always thought it was a front. She was after all sister to Helena's father, and Decimus was a man I liked. His diffidence also hid a sharp intelligence. Brought up in our family, Maia had cruder social skills: nosiness, insults, accusations, rants, and that old favorite, flouncing off in a huff.
"So what about you?" the procurator's wife inquired directly. "Your eldest-"
"My eldest died." Like most bereaved mothers, Maia never forgot and she had never quite recovered from it. "I suppose that's why I felt so much for the situation with Petronius… I was pregnant when I married. I was very young. Too young. Well caught out."
They were silent for a while. A paragraph mark in the conversation.
"So now you have four, and you are widowed," Aelia Camilla summed up. "Your children are not helpless. I think you have a choice. You could be independent-make time for yourself in the way that you missed as a young girl. You are so attractive, you are surrounded by men who want to take you over-but, Maia, it's not for them to choose."
"Ditch them all, you mean?" Maia laughed. I was beginning to realize that after Famia died she must have been very lonely. He was useless in many ways, but he had a large presence. Since he was gone, even Helena had probably not talked to Maia like this. Ma might have given her good advice, but what girl listens to her mother over men? "Norbanus is very attentive," mused my sister. Impossible to tell whether she was pleased by that.
"Will you visit his villa?"
"I haven't decided."
"You could take my husband's riverboat." Maia must have looked puzzled, for Aelia Camilla added pointedly, "Then if you wanted to leave, you would have your own transport."
"Ah! I'm still not sure whether to go, but thanks… There have been others hovering. I got into a serious mess once, back at home." I heard Maia's voice cloud. She was talking about Anacrites.
Aelia Camilla gave no hint of understanding that this was a reference to Maia being stalked by the Chief Spy. She could well know about it. I was under no illusions. Anyone of my rank arriving in a new province would be preceded by an intelligence brief. For all I knew, Anacrites himself had contributed to mine. My sister, having attracted his vindictiveness, must also be a special-category traveler.
Aelia Camilla was now talking about her husband. "Gaius and I experienced problems at one time. I don't say we were publicly estranged, but I was very unhappy for a period."
"It doesn't show now," said Maia. "You were a long way from home?"
"Yes, and I felt a very great void between us."
"So what happened?"
"The usual-Gaius stayed out too much."
"What-bars, or the Games?"
"Well, I knew there were neither available."
"Oh, he said it was work!" Maia, chortling, knew all about that from Famia.
"Genuine." Aelia Camilla was loyal. "He had to travel long distances, sourcing precious minerals."
"How did you solve it? I gather you did solve it?"
"Drastically. I forced him to see that the problem existed: I said I wanted a divorce."
"That was a risk! Hilaris did not?"
"No. And I did not, Maia. Our marriage had been arranged for us by relatives, but it was right. We were in love. Sometimes more, sometimes less; but you feel it, don't you? When it is right."
"So what are you telling me, Camilla?"
"It made me believe that you should speak out. You cannot trust a man to face up to things, you know. Maia, you could lose him before you even start. There is too much to lose if you drift, thinking everybody understands one another."
A wicked note entered my sister's voice. "Are you talking about Norbanus Murena?"
Aelia Camilla chuckled. "No," she said. "Someone else-and you know it."
Maia did not ask her who she meant.
XXX
The Norbanus harpist joined them. His twanging would have drowned out their conversation anyway, but they both stopped the gossip. They would certainly not discuss Norbanus Murena; anyone else male was also off-limits. If the tunesmith was meant to carry back news to his master, this shrewd pair had his measure. He was spoiling their fun too.
Helena arrived soon afterward. I heard her dump a chair amid the garden party. Annoyance could be detected in the angry scratch of its legs.
"Where's our boy?" scoffed Maia immediately "I thought you were guarding my brother all day!"
"He found a friend."
"Anyone we know?"
Helena made no answer.
I waited awhile, then stood up. The others had their backs to me, but Helena looked up and saw me as I yawned and waved, making it plain I had been there on the balcony for hours. Perhaps she would feel guilty for doubting me. Perhaps not.
I went to our room and she joined me almost instantly. Nothing uncomfortable was said, and I quickly narrated all that Chloris had told me.
"I've acquired a witness, but one I can't use. Still, if she will make a formal statement, Frontinus may be prodded to make arrests. Maybe if word leaks out that the culprits are in custody, other people will feel safe enough to come forward."
"King Togidubnus will want to know what that quarrel in the bar was about."
"I need to know that myself. If Pyro and Splice just pretend they had an argument about a wine bill, that's not enough. I want to tie the Verovolcus killing to extortion. Then Frontinus can stamp on the racket."
Helena frowned. "Frontinus will support you, won't he?"
"Yes, though don't forget his initial reaction was to gloss over the problem. I have to prove beyond doubt what is going on."
"And Petronius is working on the same lines?"
"He is-but Frontinus must not know. If he finds out, Petro will be in hot water."
"You two!" she scoffed. "Why can neither of you ever do anything the easy way?"
I grinned. "Come here."
"Don't mess about, Falco." She sounded like me, coping with Chloris.
"No, come here." I got hold of her. She was too interested in the Verovolcus story to resist. I held her nose to nose. We were peaceful with each other now. "I love you very much, you know."
"Don't change the subject," said Helena Justina sternly, but by then I was kissing her.
I took my time. O reader, go and peruse a very long philosophical scroll for an hour. You damn well don't need to know about this.
Actually, you can come back now. What happened was fairly satisfactory to a man who had been fighting off jealousy all night and morning-but what might have happened never did. Instead, we were interrupted by a wary slave of the procurator's, who knocked on the bedroom door extremely shyly, looking for me. It was unclear whether he expected to find a vicious marital tempest or widescale pornography.
"Can I help you?" I asked sweetly. I was fully clad and hardly blushed at all. I had of course spent my youth being caught almost in the act by my mother. I could look innocent in no time. Chloris could vouch for that.
Forget Chloris. (I was now seriously trying to.)
"Message." The slave chucked the tablet at me and fled.
It was from the customs officer, Firmus. He wanted me to come down to the ferry urgently. Somebody, the message said obliquely, had suggested that I would want to know they had found another corpse.
XXXI
The body was still lying on the deck. They were waiting for me before moving it: Firmus, a couple of his juniors, and a man who rowed the ferryboat to and fro on call. A silence fell, as I absorbed the sight. The others, having seen it once, stared at me rather than at the dreadful corpse.
They had fished it out of the river this morning, Firmus said. None of us thought the man had drowned, however. That surprised me. Somehow after Verovolcus I had expected a pattern. But there was no parallel with the well-killing: this man had been battered to death. Someone had
set about him with professional cruelty. To judge from the massive injuries he suffered, it would have taken a long time. The beating may even have continued after he had died. There was no foam around the lips, though being in the river would have washed it off. I looked in his mouth and still found no evidence to suggest he had been alive when he was tipped in the water. Firmus, and the ferryman, seemed to find that comforting.
The body had tangled in the ferry; I thought this had happened very soon after its being put into the Thamesis. Death, too, must have taken place quite recently Only this morning, by the freshness of the corpse. He had had no time to sink properly and had not reached the bloated stage, full of gas. Though less hideous this way, the thought that he had so narrowly missed seeing the killers dispose of the body upset the ferryman more.
The last time I saw anyone murdered with such savagery it was in Rome. Gangsters had inflicted the battering on one of their own.
This dead man was fifty or sixty, thereabouts. I cannot tell you about his features; the face had been too badly damaged. Of modest build in most respects, he had quite strong arms and shoulders. His skin was ruddy, with no dirt on his hands, which had noticeably clean cuticles and fingernails. Along the inner side of both his arms were old healed marks, which looked like minor burns, the sort you obtain from a brush against a trivet or an oven edge. He was dressed in British clothing, with the neck flap that is common to the northern provinces. Under the blood lay a faint trace of something, a fine gray sludge that had thickened in the seams and braids of his brown tunic. He wore no belt. I guessed his tormentors had removed it and used it as one of the weapons to thrash him, its buckle causing some of those short cuts among his heavy bruising.
"Know him, Falco?"
"Never seen him before-" I had to clear my throat. "I can suggest who he may be, though. If this mucky deposit all over him was once flour-dust, that's a clue. A baker called Epaphroditus vanished and his shop burned down the other night. It's clear he had upset someone. Someone who must think that depriving him of his livelihood was not enough to punish him-or not enough to scare other people."
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