Seven men, who could say, if we challenged them in court, they had been dining quietly together. Though their real purpose might be not one jot less sinister for that.
And who, then, had been this ugly dinner party’s host?
I stared at the faint groove where it seemed Sosia’s stylus had erased a further name. My poor Sosia had been bound in law
by ties that were not mine. Had she stood here now, fixing me with those great eager eyes that I remembered so vividly, I would have had to maintain her silence with her to the end. But she was long gone. And I still wanted bitterly to avenge her death.
There was one more person involved in this case: somebody so adept at shrinking out of view that I had almost deliberately ignored the obvious link. I thanked Lenia, grasped the ingot in my arms, and struggled with it upstairs to my room. Soon, wearing my best toga, the one that belonged to Festus, I came down again and went out to do what was necessary on Palatine Hill.
LIII
By the time I clambered up to the Palace, I felt so hysterical I expected the Praetorians to arrest me on sight. It was comforting to find that the Emperor’s Guards could apparently distinguish a true assassin from a hot but honest man. When I begged to see Titus I was passed in through officials of increasing refinement until a tall secretary, who gave the impression he would not flutter one long handsome eyelash if his mother-inlaw caught him buggering the butcher in her backyard, listened and then propped me on a stool with my toga piled neatly in my lap while he walked away into an inner room.
Titus came out.
He made a magnificent sight. He had assumed his full military uniform as commander in chief in Judaea and a confident mood to match. He wore an ornamented breastplate, its torso moulded to heroic proportions, a richly dyed, completely circular purple cloak, and a tunic frogged on every edge with rigid palm leaf braid. Anything he lacked in height to carry this off, he made up in a muscular build. He was ready to go to the Temple of Isis, where he would spend the night solemnly with his father and his brother, before they entered the city tomorrow as victorious Roman generals bringing home their captives and glittering spoils.
Doubt now assailed me. My client had dressed as if to model for the formal statues that would gild his reputation for several thousand years. I did not believe in the power of ceremonial, but I knew that I had come on the wrong day.
I stood up. I handed Titus Sosia’s writing tablet, feeling the firm grip of his hand as he took it from me. He glanced in pinched silence at Domitian’s name, then ran his eye down the rest.
Thank you, Falco. This is useful, but nothing new…” His eyes seemed remote, his mind half-given to the honours of tomorrow. Even so, he grasped my own hectic excitement in the end. “What do you believe it is?”
I pointed out the gap.
“Sir, Camillas Meto’s daughter was no scribe. She wrote like a schoolgirl, pressing hard with her stylus. I had to show you the list, but if you agree, at the cost of destroying it I swallowed for I could not easily forgo anything Sosia Camillina gave to me. “If we melt the wax completely off the backing board, you may find she scraped right through into the wood.”
His glance hit mine; the man was as sharp as a Spanish sword.
“The missing name may still be visible?” Titus Caesar took decisions like the general he was. “Little to lose!”
He called back the thin secretary. Hollow-shouldered and slightly showing off, this ghoul soon tilted the tablet over a flame, turning his bony wrist to let the drips skitter into a chased silver bowl. He gave it back with a professional flourish.
Titus glanced at the scarred surface, then signalled the secretary to make himself scarce. For a painful moment we gazed at each other, then Titus quietly said, “Well, Didius Falco, how good an informer are you? Do you want to tell me, before I show you this, who you think it is?”
A military tribune, in the narrow purple bands of the second rank, tripped into the anteroom to meet some official appointment in connection with the Triumph: eyes bright, best boots, inlaid armour burnished to a gleam, and scrubbed from his straight-cut toenails to the red tips of his adolescent ears. Titus did not even look at him.
“Out!” he commanded, almost politely, though the tribune bolted without a second glance.
Once again the room was silent. Titus and me… Titus still holding the tablet, which I still had not seen.
My mouth felt dry. As an informer I was only middling good (too much of a dreamer and too chary of dubious commissions the kind that pay); all the same I was good enough. I had vowed never to align myself with the establishment again; yet I gave my own kind of service to my city and the Empire. I would never accept any Emperor’s divinity, but I believed in my own self-respect and securing my fee.
So I told Titus Caesar who I thought it was.
“It must be one of the Camillus brothers, Caesar. But I am not certain which.”
LIV
Outside we heard an escort party assembling. Titus strode to the doorway and spoke. The agitation stilled; someone posted a guard.
My abdomen felt sore, as if I had been seriously bereaved.
Coming back, Titus seated me and took his own place on the same couch beside me, laying the tablet between us, face down.
“That poor little girl! Oh, Falco that whole poor family! Well, it has to be done. Tell me your reasoning, please.”
“Sir, once you think of it, it seems horribly obvious. I’ll go back to the start. When the first silver pig turned up in Rome, what happened to Sosia Camillina was deeply relevant; I have always thought that. Possibly Atius Pertinax, in his position as the praetor’s aedile, had been able to tell the conspirators where the ingot was hidden. But I now believe that they knew that already and certainly it was someone close to her who realized that Sosia knew the number to the bank box. So, the speediest way to get into it was to take her there herself using ruffians to confuse the issue and prevent her recognizing anyone.”
Titus nodded. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Just before she died, Sosia wrote to her cousin that she had identified the house of a man who was connected with the people who abducted her. I believe that is where she had found this list. The point is, at that time, for her own safety following the kidnap attempt she was confined at home that is, in the senator’s house though I have no doubt that whenever she wanted, she would still have been given access to her own father’s house next door.” Titus shook his head in reluctant acceptance of what I said. “Caesar, from the moment I undertook this case for you, someone very close has been watching my progress and thwarting every turn. When Helena Justina and I came back from Britain, after months away, someone
knew enough to ambush us that very day. I had in fact sent a message from the Ostia Gate to her family.”
“And so you lost the letter from friend Hilaris?” Titus smiled affectionately as he spoke; honest Gaius, with his pedantic dedication to hard work, had that effect. I smiled too, though simply because I liked the man.
“Quite. I always assumed the two names Flavius Hilaris was sending to Vespasian were Domitian and Pertinax. He would not tell me though. I misunderstood; it’s most unlikely the mining contractor Triferus would realize your brother was involved. Pertinax, the shipper, must be one of them, but Pertinax had been married to Gaius’ own niece. And suppose the other was an even closer relation of his wife’s! It must have been painful; no wonder if Flavius Hilaris preferred to stand aloof and let Vespasian decide what to do.”
Without comment on that point, Titus suggested carefully, “Did you ever consider Hilaris might be implicated here?”
“Not once I met him!” I told him my joke about this case being one where only the public officers were straight; he laughed.
“All honour to the knights,” he exclaimed, applauding the middle class. Then added, fully serious as far as I could tell, “You ought to consider aiming for higher rank yourself. My father is anxious to build up the lists with good men.”
The property qualification for the second rank is land worth four hundred thousand sesterces; Titus Caesar could not have realized what a ludicrous observation he had made. In some years the Falco income was so low, I qualified for tokens to claim the corn dole for the poor.
Ignoring the imperial jest, I pointed out that for twenty years Flavius Hilaris had been Vespasian’s friend.
“Falco, it’s a sad fact that when a man becomes Emperor he has to look twice at his friends.”
“When a man becomes Emperor, sir, his friends may look twice at him!”
He laughed again.
Outside the door subdued voices were murmuring insistently now. Titus was staring into space.
“Has Flavius Hilaris been asked to write again?” I asked.
“We sent out an urgent message by signal flare, but traffic is very heavy because of the Triumph. A reply should come back after tomorrow.”
“Do you still need it?”
It was then he finally turned over Sosia’s tablet so I could read what it said for myself.
“I’m afraid so,” Titus said.
There were various scratches on the tablet’s pale wood; my hunch had been right, Sosia was a heavy-handed scribe. I could trace clear marks, strokes, even individual letters, all the way down the page.
But it was impossible to decipher the missing name.
LV
Titus Caesar folded his arms.
“Well, it changes nothing really. We shall just have to find out for ourselves. Have you any idea which brother it is?”
“No, sir. It could be the senator, who appears so anxious to help your father, but may be doing that to obtain the opportunity to sabotage our efforts. Or equally it could be his brother, who was certainly a close associate of Atius Pertinax. I suppose it could conceivably be both.”
“Falco, how long have you had these suspicions?” Titus asked me curiously.
“Caesar, if you wanted mere speculation, I could have handed you a list a thousand names long six months ago ‘
Still gripping his arms across this chest, Titus tipped up that famous Flavian chin. “Hogging this family’s involvement to yourself? You’re attached to them obviously?”
“No, Caesar,” I insisted.
We were on the verge of heated argument. No surprise; I had already quarrelled at some time or other with everyone else connected with the case. But Titus, with his strong sentimental streak, abruptly capsized. He threw back his head even further and exclaimed in a sad voice, “Oh Falco; how I hate this!”
“You hate it,” I told him crisply, ‘but you will have to deal with it.”
There was more movement outside. A tribune slightly older than the first, this one in the broad purple stripe of senatorial rank, entered the room. Seeing Titus and me with our heads together he stood quietly; he was obviously held in great confidence, and did not expect a rebuff. Plainly he believed their special day tomorrow took precedence over my own small moment of intrigue. His determined presence recalled Titus to their real order of business.
“Is there a problem, sir? Domitian Caesar has ridden ahead, but your father is delaying for you.” “Yes. I’ll come.” The tribune waited. Titus let him stay.
“We need you to help us identify the remaining conspirators!” Titus urged me. I hesitated. I was too closely connected with people involved to judge the issues cleanly any more. My reluctance was not unexpected, I could see.
“Caesar, the Guards could take this forward for you now. There’s a captain I recommend to you who knows something about it already; his name’s Julius Frontinus. He became interested when the first ingot was found in Rome; he helped put me on the right track then ‘
“A friend?”
“He went to school with my brother.”
“Ah!”
Dealing with a Caesar was unpleasantly civilized. His good manners gave me a sick qualm; instead of escaping I felt hopelessly pressurized.
“Falco, I can’t force you to go on with the case, though I wish you would. Look, will you leave your decision just for a day? Nothing is going to happen in the next twenty-four hours. All Rome will be at a standstill. Tomorrow my father will be handing out gifts to people in his pay. You’ve certainly earned that; you may as well take advantage! Meanwhile, let us both consider what to do. After the Triumph come and talk to me again.” He rose, ready now to answer the call from his staff, yet he did not hurry me.
“These are not my kind of people,” I informed him awkwardly. “I can round up a thug or a thief and throw him at your feet with a noose round his neck, alive or dead, as you choose. I lack finesse for this.”
Titus Caesar lifted an eyebrow sardonically.
“A cornered traitor is unlikely to respond according to strict court etiquette. Didius Falco, my father has had a letter from Flavius Hilaris, applauding your physical endurance and mental agility; he’s spent three sheets of first quality parchment singing your praises! You have managed when it suited you to deal on your own aggressive terms with anyone who stumbled in your path, yet it does not suit you now?”
“Sir, very well. I’ll honour my contract, identify who organized the plot ‘
“And find the silver pigs!”
“Sosia Camillina suspected where they were. I believe she was right all along.”
“Nap Lane?”
“Nap Lane.”
“Falco,” Titus was thoroughly exasperated now, “I cannot keep my men in Nap Lane any longer! They have work elsewhere. The warehouse has been virtually stripped down and reconstructed several times. The value of the contents is a serious complication for the officer in charge. The lady you act for has been promised that my officers will leave ‘
Then let them,” I suggested with a faint smile. “And let me tell Helena Justina that your men have been recalled to other duties as from tomorrow, the day of your Triumph. It might be useful if that news was to be broadcast amongst her family…” I did not explain why, but like other intelligent men he enjoyed a conversation that left him work to do.
“Nothing is going to happen so long as my soldiers are perching on the pigs? I agree. You may tell Helena Justina the warehouse is available. I will ask the Praetorians to inspect the place informally from time to time but Falco, I rely on you!”
I left the Palace on the northeast side, coming down to the Forum on the Clivus Victoriae. All the streets, normally so dark at night, were ablaze with the flickering light of torches as dim figures worked to adorn their porticos with garlands. Gangs of public contractors were erecting stands. The gutters ran with a constant chuckle of water as mud and debris were sluiced from one island block to another. Squadron after squadron of soldiery went marching past on their way to the great muster at the Plain of Mars. Citizens who would normally lock themselves into their shops and houses after nightfall hovered in groups outside, reluctant to leave the expectant atmosphere. Already the city hummed.
I sent one of my nephews with a note to Helena Justina. I said the spices were now hers but I could no longer make myself available for her proposed warehouse spree. I did not tell her why. By the time breaking my promise became an embarrassment, she would understand; meanwhile, I guessed she would assume I had decided to avoid her.
Perhaps I should.
I had never written to Helena before. Now I would probably never do so again. No doubt once she knew what I had done
on Palatine Hill, the honourable Helena Justina would be only too keen to avoid me.
I told my nephew to wait for any answer, but she sent none.
That night I visited Petronius at his house. His wife, who takes a dim view of me at the best of times, was not at all pleased; she wanted him to spend time with their children to make up for having to waste all the hours of the public holiday keeping watch for shop breakers along the Ostia Road.
I told Petro what I believed was now afoot and he promised to stake out the warehouse with me when I tipped him the word. I left him on his hands and knees being ridden li
ke an elephant by his three tiny girls. His wife gave me a black pudding when I departed, I think as a present for leaving them alone.
I wanted to get drunk. Luckily for Petro’s wife I hold the philosophy that you can be drunk at any other point in a case, but never when you know at last who it is you are looking for.
When I went up to the Palace I had thought it was all over. The cases you hate most never seem to end.
LVI
I took all of my sisters and a dozen small children to watch Vespasian’s Triumph. For that alone my soul deserves quiet rest in Elysian fields.
I managed to miss the tedious march of the consuls and senators by the simple trick of having overslept. (Even with the city in ferment, up on the sixth floor I could doze deep into the morning as peaceful as a dove’s egg in a stone pine nest.) Out on the Campus Martius the army drew up in parade, while Vespasian and Titus took their places on ivory seats in the Portico of Octavia to receive the troops’ acclaim. When this shout tore the skies, even an Aventine sleepyhead leapt out of bed. While the Imperial party pecked at breakfast under the Triumphal Arch, I sorted out my holiday tunic, peacefully watered the flowers on my balcony, and combed my hair. I hummed on my way northwards, passing through the garlanded arcades, into a wall of sound.
It was a lively day, warm and bright, with a lift in the air. A bad day for bunions; by the time I strolled out there was standing room only. All the temples had been thrown open, and the baths were closed; incense, smoking on a thousand altars, grappled with the whiff of half a million people perspiring in their holiday clothes without a chance to bathe all day. Apart from one or two dedicated housebreakers slipping through deserted alleys with discreet sacks of swag, everyone who was not in the procession was watching it. There were so many gawpers packed along the processional route that the marchers and floats could hardly crawl along.
My brother-in-law Mico (the plasterer) had for once been put to use. They sent him out at first light to erect a scaffold just for us in front of some unwary citizen’s private house. There was not really room for a scaffold, but when the aedile’s troops saw the entire Didius family installed on a day’s hampers, all
Lindsey Davis - Falco 01 - Silver Pigs Page 21