She was nowhere to be seen. I walked steadily up a long aisle of baskets and kegs to the back of the building, then returned. My eyes watered slightly. I stood in that dizzy fug of aromatic scents, like a man drowning in medicinal balsam.
“Helena!” I spoke her name, but not loudly. I waited, straining to find her presence, but I could tell she was not there.
“Helena
I walked out into the glare of the yard. Someone had been here. Someone had left the key. Someone intended coming back.
No one was in the yard. I stood looking again at the line of waiting carts. They were quite substantial. Spices were normally transported in panniers slung on mules.
I walked to the gate. Naissa had gone. Nothing else had changed. I walked back to where the watchman had just woken up enough to look up at me in bleary happiness.
“I’m looking for a girl.”
“Good luck to you, sir!”
By now all the world was his friend. He insisted I share his next bottle, so I sat on the ground beside him while I tried to
decide what to do. Sharing his bottle involved sharing his company, both of which explained why the watchman had been drinking alone, for his company was unendurable and his wine worse. Drinking seemed to sober him up, so to take my mind off his tedious personality and the foul taste of his liquor on the roof of my mouth I enquired after progress in the sewers. I should have known better. It turned out he was an opinionated orator who started to cackle on, imparting grimly-held theories about incompetent management by the aediles who ran the public works. He was right, but that did not make me keen to hear his views. I bit at a peppercorn, cursing myself.
This work has been going on for almost a year. Why so long?” If I had been a lucky man, he would have answered he was only the watchman and had no idea; men who lecture you on local government are never so honest or so brief. After a slurred treatise on the art of sewer maintenance, wildly inaccurate on engineering facts and positively intolerable once he started drawing diagrams in the dust, I found out that quite simply the patched cracks consistently reappeared. The job was troublesome. The fault lay two hundred yards down Nap Lane. None of the self-important occupants would agree to have their yards dug up, so all the concrete had to be bar rowed here then slung along in baskets underground…
“Can’t they use a manhole nearer the spot?” I asked.
He answered with the logic of the truly drunk, that there wasn’t one.
Thanks!” I said, tipping down the brim of Maia’s hat over my face.
I knew without moving that I had found the silver pigs.
We lay there, side by side, - a hopeless drunk with half his belly showing, and his companion under a country hat while I got used to this idea. Somehow I felt no surprise when brisk footsteps approached us from the main street direction and passed by, striding down the lane. I lifted Maia’s hat a crack above my nose.
I saw a man I recognized go in through the warehouse gate.
There was just time for me to hop down the lane and flatten myself inside the clapped-out cart before he burst back out like an exploding lupin seed. He must have discovered the same key that I found, still in the lock. I kept well down, and heard him walk straight to the false manhole that had been hidden beneath the wrecked vehicle until it was moved. He seemed to
pause, listening; I tried not to breathe. I heard him strike a sulphur match. He swung himself down the iron ladder, while I slid to the floor crabwise and approached the hole, circling around so that my shadow fell away from it. I stood back until the faint clang of his shoes had stopped ringing on the ladder, then I waited a few seconds longer in case when he reached the bottom he looked up.
No one in sight: I scrambled up and shinned down the ladder myself, silently planting the arches of my feet on the metal rungs.
There was a small chamber to turn in, from which an excavated passage ran under the yard wall. It was high enough to walk without crouching, and smooth underfoot. Everywhere was thoroughly lined with mortar, and quite dry. Enough light came from the manhole to fumble my way to a heavy open doorway where I stayed, secure in the outer darkness of the passage, to observe the man I had followed as he spoke to Helena. It was the younger Camillus brother, her uncle Publius.
What I still did not know was whether he had come as a villain, anxious to secure his loot or whether, like me, he was an innocent, merely curious citizen.
LIX
Publius and Helena held a lamp each. Beyond these tiny orbs, which glowed upon their faces with sick translucency, gloomed a black rectangular mass.
“So you’re here!” Camillus Meto exclaimed, with the mild astonishment of a man who had imagined a young girl would want to watch the Triumph. From the acoustics as he spoke I gathered they were in a small chamber, densely packed. “Did I startle you?”
Neither seemed particularly alarmed; I was. I could hear my heart knocking like an airlock in a narrow bronze water pipe
Helena Justina had been standing quite still in the underground room as if lost in thought. She must have heard her uncle’s footsteps, but she showed no surprise. She spoke to him cheerfully, like any relative. “Look at this! The saffron vault keeps a good secret. I wondered if the soldiers would have found it. Obviously not!”
“You knew about this place? Did Pertinax bring you here?”
“To show me the perfumes, several times. We were married then, of course. His dry cellar, with a secret door, where the most costly spices could be locked away. Such a simple trick, having the entrance in the lane outside I never believed him when he said it was safe… I’ve found some other lamps ‘ She began lighting them with a spill, then they both stared.
It was a low vault, with slabs of rough-hewn stone forming shelves where ceramic jars and glass vessels stood like elixirs in an apothecary’s shop. Here, apart from the dried saffron filaments from bright Bithynian crocuses which gave the cavern its familiar name, Pertinax and Publius Meto had secured their precious oils, safe from the excise and from any light-fingered warehousemen of their own. You could not smell the saffron for the much more concentrated perfumes which haunted the place with their enclosed, ambrosial scent. But Helena and her
uncle did not notice those. Filling most of the floorspace was a sombre block, chest-high, which chilled the memory of an ex-lead-mine slave: silver ingots by the score stood stacked in the gloom, as regular and tight as turf blocks built into a military wall.
I could see Camillus Meto was watching his niece.
“Is Falco here with you?”
“No.” Her voice was hard.
He laughed shortly, with an implication I objected to. “Cast you off?”
Helena ignored the remark. “A down payment on an Empire!” she marvelled in her old, bitter way. “Falco would have liked to see this. Such a pity he found out that three quarters of this eerie booty no longer contains any silver at all.”
“Clever old Falco!” Publius said quietly. “I can’t see the Praetorians knocking at seaside villas in Pompeii and Oplontis, trying to sell them cheap lead water pipes!” He seemed more positive than I remembered him before. “What were you doing here all alone when I came in?”
“Thinking.” She sounded sad. Thinking about Sosia, I wondered if this vault was where she died. She knew it was here; she visited once with Gnaeus and me. She may have come, knowing that it was a secret place ‘
With an abrupt movement Sosia’s father set his lamp on a shelf and folded his arms, gazing round bleakly as lines deeply incised his face.
“It’s too late to make any difference!” he stated, in a strained voice. He wanted to stop her. For his sake, so did I. He could not stand here and face it. His voice had the harsh break I remembered from Sosia’s funeral, as if he were still fretting to avoid the fact of her death, brusquely rejecting anyone who reminded him.
Helena sighed. “Fair, reverent and dutiful; father read me your eulogy. He was so upset ‘
“He copes!” Publius rapped.
“Not so well as he did. Father said to me recently, he felt he was drowning in a whirlpool now I see this I understand!”
“What?” I saw Publius’ head come up.
Helena Justina demanded almost impatiently but with a tinge of bitterness, “Isn’t it obvious?” She straightened her shoulders, then declared in the taut voice I had only heard her use when insulted to the heart by me, “Pertinax may have provided the warehouse with its secret vault, but he had not the brains to
devise a plot so devious. I assume it is my father who organized all this.”
As she gestured angrily towards the bank of ingots, Camillus Meto stared at her. They and I contemplated the consequences of what she had suggested. In a Roman scandal none of the family escapes. Unborn generations, judged by the honour of their ancestors, were already condemned by this act against the state. The disgrace of a senator would drag down all his relations. His loss of honour afflicted the respectable and the innocent too, including his brother and his sons. Publius would be permanently scarred. The good-hearted lad I had met in Germany with Helena would find his career blighted before it was under way; his brother in Spain too. Far away in Britain this curse would fall unhappily on Aelia Camilla; through her marriage, even onto Gaius. And here on Helena.
Her uncle threw back that oddly ordinary head and commented in a heavy voice, “Oh Helena, Helena! I knew of course; I had known for a long time. I was not sure whether you had realized!”
I thought, if he was in the plot himself this man was acting extraordinarily well. If he was, Helena must know. But in that case, the lass was lucky I was here. Facing up to him alone was desperately dangerous…
LX
“What are you proposing to do?” Camillas Meto asked his niece in a cautious tone.
“If I can, put things right.” She spoke very crisply, without a second thought. That was Helena all over. I loved the poor deluded girl for her straightforwardness!
A tickle ran across my foot so insistently I lifted my leg and shook, though I knew that in this arid hole no creature was likely to live. The darkness pressed coolly on my prickling skin. The passage lay buried in thick silence, though far away I could hear a remote, single note of applause as the Triumph continued at the Capitol.
In the faint light of half a dozen small oil lamps, Helena Justina was half turned away, though I knew her so well I could tell her moods from the inflexion in her voice. She sounded wan, as she always did if she felt troubled and alone. I could not interpret whether she had confided the truth to her uncle, or was testing him. As for him, he looked like a man whose emotions were either very shallow or so deep you could never hope to fathom them.
“I would have expected you to suppose your father was too respectable!” he commented.
Helena sighed. “Isn’t that the point? The family rely on him to do everything that is noble. But when I was in Britain I had a long talk with my aunt. Aelia Camilla told me a great deal to explain all this. How Grandfather Camillus lived in Bithynia, partly to save money when the family’s financial resources were running low. How he nursed his wife’s dowry for twenty-five years in order to find funds to qualify father for the senate ‘
“So how do you and sister Aelia account for this?” Publius enquired, sounding intrigued yet with the usual slight sneer in his tone.
“You know papa.” Helena spoke gravely. “Not one of life’s firebrands! Perhaps the strain of carrying responsibilities which
he felt were above his talents drove him to some wild political gesture. If our Gnaeus, using his position as a son-in-law, applied any kind of pressure papa might be vulnerable. Perhaps Gnaeus used blackmail. My father then struggled to stave off family disgrace as he did so, becoming inextricably drawn in. While I was still married, perhaps he hoped somehow to protect me. Every man has his weakness, Falco would say.”
“Ah Falco again!” Publius now adopted the note of thinly disguised contempt he had always used when dealing with me. “Falco has ridden dangerously close. If anything is to be salvaged from all this we shall need to deflect that young man.”
“Oh I’ve tried that!” Helena Justina gave an oddly narrow smile. A cold fist clenched in my stomach; an involuntary tremor ran down the back of my thigh.
“I thought so!” scoffed Publius candidly. “Well, this heirloom is an unexpected bonus for you. What will you do with it then, run off with friend Falco?”
“Believe me,” Helena snapped fiercely, like the girl I first met in Britain, “Didius Falco would not thank you for suggesting that! His one aim in life is to shed me as soon as he can.”
“Really? My spies tell me he looks at you as if he were jealous of the very air you breathe.”
“Really?” Helena echoed sarcastically; then she snapped back vigorously, “And what spies are those, uncle?”
Her uncle did not answer her.
It was then, contemplating what Helena might possibly be about to reveal of her private feelings for me, that fright and yearning tore me apart so much that I was racked by a catastrophic sneeze.
There was no time to back out down the passage, so I adopted my most nonchalant face and slid out into the vault.
“Your green peppers are top quality!” I congratulated Helena to camouflage the reason for the sneeze.
“Oh Falco!” I hoped I detected a gleam in her expression, as though she welcomed me, yet she sounded quite angry. “Whatever are you doing here?”
“I understood you had invited me.”
“I understood you had declined to come!”
“Luckily for you, when the third five-year-old kicked my shins with his tiny iron-shod boot, family duty began to pall. Is this where Atius Pertinax used to keep his petty cash?”
“It’s a saffron vault, Falco.”
“I must make a note to build one in when I design my country
villa! Any chance of me palming half a pint of Malabathron? I want some for a special girl I know.”
“Only you,” remarked Helena, ‘could offer to flatter a woman with a present you had stolen from her first!”
“I hope so,” I agreed cheerfully. “With any luck I’m the only one who knows which really suits you best.”
All this time her sneering uncle had been watching the two of us, and I had more sense than to imagine he was hoping to learn anything from my seduction technique.
“Young man,” he accosted in his thin voice, ‘why exactly have you come wandering in here?”
I beamed at him, as guileless as a village idiot. “Looking for the silver pigs!”
Now that I had found the ingots, I crossed to examine them and introduced myself, as any lead mine slave would, by giving them a friendly kick. I hurt my toe, but did not care; at least I knew for certain this ghostly mass was real. As I bent to rub my foot my hand hit a small object hidden against the leaden stack. I held it up: it was a plain brass inkwell, its contents long ago dried up. All three of us looked at it but none of us spoke. I put it in the pocket of my tunic slowly, then shivered in my holiday cloak.
Helena Justina spoke up with a hint of dramatic urgency: “You are trespassing, Falco. I want you to go.”
I turned. As our eyes met, I felt the sudden familiar lift in my spirits. I felt certain, too, that we were partners sharing a charade.
Now there was three of us in the vault, a new tension had taken effect. It felt like belonging to a geometric problem where certain fixed elements would enable us to draw the figure if we followed Euclid’s rules. I smiled at her ladyship.
“I finally worked out that a few barrels of nutmeg were not enough to keep bringing down the roof of the Cloaca Maxima. Lead bars would though! The political plot has foundered; so the ringleader probably intends the ingots for himself. I’ve also worked out that he’ll make for the pigs and then make off. There’s a neat row of heavy-duty waggons in the yard that I reckon are due to leave laden with silver after curfew tonight. When he comes for them, here I am.”
“Falco!”
cried Helena, apparently in outrage. “It’s my father you cannot arrest papa!”
Titus could. Still,” I commented drily, ‘in cases of treason we spare senators the inconvenience of a public trial. His honour
can expect to receive a warning note in time to fall tidily on his own sword in the privacy of his very select home ‘
There is no evidence,” Helena argued.
Sadly I disagreed. “A great deal of circumstantial evidence has always pointed direct to Decimus. From his first volunteering to assist his friend the praetor, through to the way you and I were ambushed, and on to an unsavoury man who was planted in my rooms during the period when your father was so conveniently paying my rent… As a matter of interest, ladyship, why have you never mentioned the existence of this vault? What are you intending to do let your father make good his escape with what silver there is? Very loyal! I’m certainly impressed!” She stayed silent, so I turned to her uncle, still playing the ingenuous part. “Bit of a turn up for you, sir? Your highly placed brother named as Domitian’s paymaster ‘
“Shut up, Falco,” Helena said, but I went on:
“And madam here, who so admires an Emperor who will do the paperwork, yet seems magically eager to allow her noble father to diddle the Mint… Helena Justina, you know you can’t do it!”
“You know nothing about me, Falco,” she muttered in a low voice.
I whipped back, perhaps more intensely than I meant: “But oh my soul, I wanted to find out!”
I was desperate to get her away from here before things started getting rough as I had no doubt they soon would.
“Sir, this is no place for a lady,” I appealed to her uncle. “Will you instruct your niece to go?”
That is her decision, Falco.” His mouth compressed slightly in his practised, indifferent way. He had a strangely static face; I guessed he had always been self-sufficient, private to the point of being odd.
I was standing with my back to the cold bulk of the stacked lead bars, with Helena to my left and her uncle on the right. I could see he knew that whatever I was saying to her, I was always watching him. I tried again.
Lindsey Davis - Falco 01 - Silver Pigs Page 23