Lindsey Davis - Falco 01 - Silver Pigs

by Silver Pigs(lit)

  Helena demanded quickly, “Falco, what now?”

  The Palace. Vespasian can decide.”

  “Falco, you’re a fool!” Publius exclaimed. “Share the silver with me; the spices too, and the girl, Falco - ‘

  I was angry then. Once he had disposed of her to suit his own low purposes, when he had married her to Pertinax. Never again.

  “Your nice niece has terrible taste but not as terrible as that! The play’s over. The Aventine watch are blocking the Ostia Road searching everything that moves there from a grandmother’s shopping basket to a camel’s hump. Petronius Longus won’t miss an illegal waggon train. That silver’s your death warrant ‘

  “You’re lying, Falco!”

  “Don’t judge me by your standards. It’s time to go.”

  Sosia’s father and he was Sosia’s father; I think he knew I could never forget that made me a wry gesture, open palmed, like a gladiator who has lost his arms acknowledging defeat.

  “Let me choose my own way.”

  “What,” I scoffed, ‘death with that high moral tone you so despised in life? A middle class traitor too honourable to hang?”

  “Oh Marcus Helena murmured. And at that moment I first heard the great door creak. “Allow a man his civic rights,” she begged. “Give him the chance; see what he makes of it. Let me give him the sword She had done it before I could stop her, that fine clear-eyed face open as day. Of course he had it at her precious throat at once.

  Camillus Meto had no more honour than a stinging nettle and the lass had brushed too close. He scrunched one hand deep into the soft body of her hair, flinging Helena to her knees. She took on a grey look. One move from either of us and he would slice her like a smoked Spanish ham.

  I ordered him steadily, “Let her go as I tried to keep his eye.

  “Oh Falco! Your real weak point!”

  “No, sir my strength.”

  Helena did not struggle or speak; her eyes were scorching me. I took a step.

  “No closer!”

  He was standing between me and the door. It gave him the best light, but I had the best view.

  “Behind you, Camillus!”

  “Oh gods!” he sneered. “Not that world-worn trick!”

  I raised my voice: “Partner! You took your time!”

  Helena cried out as her uncle hurt her, twisting her hair in a merciless grip that was aimed to distress me. That was his mistake. I was keeping my eyes on him, because of Helena, but at the end he heard the furious footfalls rush.

  He began to turn. I shouted: “Yours!”

  Then Publius moved; I leapt, and spun Helena away.

  I buried her face, turning her, forcing her head down against my chest.

  Before it was over she stopped struggling; she understood. I

  released her very gently, then held her close while I cut the ropes binding her, before I let her look.

  Her uncle was dead. Beside him, in a pool of blood a sword: not his own. Beside that, his executioner.

  The senator Decimus Camillus knelt on the ground. For a moment his eyes were closed tight. Without glancing up he asked me dazedly, in the voice he used when we were cronies at Glaucus’ gym, “What does your trainer tell us, Marcus? To kill a man with a sword takes strength, speed and a real desire to see him dead!” That was indeed what honest Glaucus generally said. It had been a good strong blow with his whole heart behind it, but I would never tell him that. “Oh my brother, Hail and Farewell!”

  Still holding his daughter with one arm, I approached and offered the other to bring him to his feet. Still clinging to me, Helena fell on his neck. I embraced them both together. For that moment we three were equal, sharing our deep relief and pain.

  We were still standing together when the Praetorians arrived. Petronius Longus appeared in the doorway, pale as milk. Behind him I heard the trundle of the waggons being returned.

  There seemed to be a lot of noise. People of rank took charge, things became confused. Men who had played no obvious part in the afternoon’s events congratulated themselves on their handling of the affair. I walked slowly outside, feeling my eye sockets as hollow in my face as an actor’s mask.

  The warehouse was being sealed, with the body still inside. The yard gate was being chained. Decimus was escorted off to explain at the Palace; I watched his daughter being led to a sedan chair. We did not speak. The Praetorians knew an informer even the Emperor’s informer has no business with the daughter of a senator. Meto had gashed me; she had my blood on her face. She wanted me, I knew she did. She was bruised, she was shocked, I could see that she was shaking; yet I could not go to her.

  If she had made the slightest sign I would have pushed all the Praetorians aside. She never did. I stood at a loss. The Guards were taking her home.

  It was night. Rome simmered with bad deeds and unholy cries. An owl shrieked above the Capitol. I heard the mean lilt

  of a sad flute piercing the city streets with man’s injustice to woman, and the gods’ injustice to men.

  Petronius Longus stood at my shoulder without speaking a word. And we both knew, the case of the silver pigs was effectively closed.

  LXIV

  This was Rome; there were formalities.

  That same night, while Vespasian entertained the favoured and fortunate at his own banquet in the Palace and all Rome dined by families and voting tribes elsewhere, I was hauled up to the Palatine for an interview with his son. Titus Caesar, famous for his graciousness, congratulated Camillus Verus, Petronius Longus, me. The senator was too deeply shocked to object. Helena Justina stood in silence beside her mother, both heavily veiled. Even so, Helena was as morose as a dead jellyfish, I could tell.

  Speciality of the day was intended to be granting M Didius Falco the gold ring: four hundred thousand sesterces and promotion to the middle rank. A generous gesture from a young Caesar who liked to do good deeds.

  M Didius Falco, famous for ungracious behaviour, lived up to his reputation with careless ease. I thought of what it meant not simply the land and the rank, but the kind of life they enabled me to live. Like Flavius Hilaris, ploughing a useful furrow in his own way so passionately and enjoying quiet, comfortable houses with a wife he dearly loved; the life of my choice among people I liked, where I knew I could do well.

  Then I remembered Sosia. Sosia who was dead, and now had not even her father to ask the gods to treat her tenderly. I announced to Titus Caesar: “So that’s your contract bonus! Keep it, Caesar. I never earned it; I was hired to expose the man who murdered Sosia Camillina - ‘

  With the cheers of all Rome still ringing in his ears, Titus was in a bonny mood that day, but still capable of wincing a little at me. There were few officials present, but I had done him the favour of not specifying Domitian by name. It was not a name I ever wished to speak.

  “Didius Falco, Vespasian has personally closed that account!” Titus observed carefully.

  “In my ledger it will never be closed,” I answered the metaphor coldly.

  “Probably not! I understand that. Believe me, we all mourn for that sad girl. Falco, try to be understanding in return. Rome, now, needs to believe in its first family. Emperors must make their own rules ‘

  That, sir, is why I am a republican!”

  I was aware of shocked movements, though Titus himself did not stir. He gazed at me thoughtfully, then appealed to the senator. With an effort, plainly caused by grief and exhaustion rather than any antipathy to me, Decimus attempted: “Marcus, for my daughter’s sake ‘

  But I told the senator bluntly that his fine-spirited daughter deserved better than a bumped up, bought off, newly bribed to-silence audit clerk.

  He took it fairly well. He probably agreed; I’ll guarantee his wife did. If that had not been his own opinion when I started to insult him, it ought to be now. To complete the process I snarled at the finish, “Senator, don’t let your judgement be warped by one heady moment!” Then I turned.

  I walked straight to his daughte
r, in the public audience room. Thank the gods she was veiled. I could not have done it if I had had to see her face.

  “Ladyship, you know how it is: every case a girl, new case, new girl! All the same, I brought you home a souvenir to turn your finger green: Ex Argentiis Britanniae. The grateful gift of a lead mine slave.”

  I had given Helena Justina a silver ring. There would be no other opportunity to see her, so I had fetched it from the silversmith tonight. Engraved inside was one of those cheap jewellers’ mottoes that mean nothing or everything depending on your mood: Anima Mea…

  I knew I was hopeless. I rejected her in public then laid this burden on her solitude. It was not my fault. The smith had had no instructions, so he put whatever he felt like; once I had seen it I could not bring myself to have it changed.

  And after all, the motto was true: Anima Mea, My Soul.

  I lifted her hand, closing her fingers down firmly on my gift. Then without looking at any of them, I left.

  LXV

  I went to the Embankment. Up past the shuttered shapes of the puppeteers’ booths onto the deserted promenade.

  This was where I walked once with Helena Justina. It was a place where I went sometimes, by myself. Now it was dark, but I wanted the dark. I hunched into my toga, listening to Rome at night, fighting back my panic at what I had done.

  I stood completely alone in that high place above Rome. A wind was blowing chilly. From the distance came intermittent strains of music, the stamping of sentries’ feet, wild gusts of laughter and occasional sinister cries.

  When I was calm again, which was when I was very, very cold, I came down.

  I went back to the Palace. I asked to see Titus again. It was now very late. In the corridors tall shadows veered, while the few attendants I could find were gossiping and looked up, startled, when disturbed by my white-faced ghost.

  No one seemed to find my presence odd. No one seemed to mind. Sometimes it is like that in official places when the night squad comes on duty; so little happens normally that they are glad of a change in routine.

  They passed me in through various apartments dripping with drapery to a rather plain anteroom I had never seen before. Someone went into an inner room where I heard my name spoken in a low, incurious voice. After a moment a cheery old cove came out in his slippers, followed at a placid amble by the man who had brought me in, who then disappeared. The old cove scrutinized me.

  “Both the young Caesars are tucked up in bed. Will I do?”

  He wore a rumpled purple tunic, with no belt. He was a big, solid man about sixty years old, square-built and healthy, with a deeply lined forehead and an open stare. Somehow his very lack of ceremony lent his presence weight: over the years he

  had grown used to carrying men with him through sheer personality. He did it well. Damn the bastard from his great toes to the thin hair on his head, I liked him at once.

  I knew who he was; the Emperor, Vespasian.

  I thought it was best to answer politely that he would do.

  He gazed at me with amused indulgence, then motioned me in. He had been working in a small area, made cosy with well-placed lamps. There were two neat piles of correspondence undergoing his attentions. It looked a disciplined scene. It was the sort of office I should like to work in myself.

  “So you’re Falco. You look a bit pea ky Want a cup of wine?”

  “No thanks. I’m just a bit cold. Please don’t trouble.”

  “Oh it’s no trouble!” he roared cheerfully. There are unlimited cup-bearers and flagon-pourers waiting up the corridor for a chance to show off their stuff I still shook my head. Rather to my surprise he continued rattling on. “Bringers-in and takers out Each of them some sort of exalted specialist. If you want one, they can probably produce a slave to pick the fluff out of your navel, complete with a fluff-picker’s apron and a pearl handled fluff-picking tool!” He seemed to have settled down.

  “Nice relaxing retirement, sir,” I chivied him gravely, ‘coming into all that!”

  “I stopped relaxing when I saw the wages bill,” Vespasian said bitterly.

  He turned those deep eyes on me and I realized, I could have handled Titus, but not him.

  “I heard about your antics over the fee!”

  “I did not mean to insult you, sir.”

  Vespasian was silent. It seemed to me the look of strain for which he was so famous could easily be the effect of years in public places trying not to laugh. He was not, however, laughing now.

  “What you insult is your own undoubted intelligence!” I like a man to be frank. Just as well. “So what,” enquired the Emperor more mildly, ‘is this latest piece of pantomime about?”

  So that was when I explained to Vespasian what I had come here hoping to achieve.

  I told him the tale and I said I was sorry; I begged for a second chance as a clerk. He asked why; I said her; he said no.

  I said what? Then he said no again.

  This was not what I expected, not what I expected at all. After that Vespasian offered me a job. It was my turn to say

  no. I pointed out he disliked informers and I disliked Emperors; we were hardly well matched. He explained that he did not dislike the informers as such, only the work that they did. I confided that I felt much the same about Emperors.

  He looked at me for a long time, though did not seem particularly upset.

  “So this visit is about the Camillus girl?” I said nothing. “Falco, I don’t believe in unsuitable liaisons across the ranks. A senator’s daughter has a duty to respect the honour of her family. I’m considered old-fashioned,” the Emperor commented.

  I could hardly avoid knowing, since it was the talk of Rome, that Vespasian himself had kept house for years with a freed slave who had first been his mistress forty years ago. It was said, though it seemed unlikely, he had even brought this loyal old body to the Palace with him now.

  “Sir, with due respect, I won’t interrogate you on these matters, so I don’t expect to have to answer for myself.”

  I think he was offended this time but after a second he grinned. “Titus says she seems a sensible wench!”

  “I thought so,” I snapped back, ‘until she tangled with me!”

  “My old friend Hilaris,” Vespasian protested, refuting this, ‘would strongly disagree. I never argue with Gaius; it leads to too much paperwork. He thinks well of you. What am I to tell him now?”

  I looked at the Emperor and he stared at me. We reached an agreement; it was my own idea. He just sat there with his arms folded until I came out with it. He would put me on the list for the second rank; he would do it when I produced the qualifying money myself.

  I had committed myself to earning and saving four hundred thousand pieces of gold.

  Before I left I insisted on one other thing.

  “I want you to see this.”

  I took out the inkwell I found in the saffron vault; it came from my pocket in a scatter of peppercorns. The Emperor turned it over in the palm of his great hand. It was an ordinary inkwell, a simple shape with a retaining ledge inside to prevent spills. On the base was neatly scratched: T FL DOM, the initials of Vespasian’s younger son.

  Before he could speak, I took it back.

  “Since it won’t be needed in court, I’ll keep this as a memento of the case.”

  To do Vespasian justice, he did let me take the thing away.

  I went home.

  As I descended from the Palatine, Rome in the dead of night lay all round me, like a series of deep black pools between the faint lights on the ridges of the Seven Hills. So I turned my footsteps through the sleeping streets and at last came back into the familiar squalor of my own places, and the grim apartment where I lived and to which I had once brought a girl called Sosia Camillina.

  It was the worst day of my life, and when I walked into my office I realized that it had not ended yet. The folding door opposite stood open. As I entered, a shaft of cold air moved subtly within the room. There was some
body out on my balcony lying in wait.

  LXVI

  My mother never came so late. Petronius was suspicious of the open air at night. I decided there was no chance whoever was lurking out there could be anybody I might wish to see.

  I had bought some pottery lamps with my early fees from the senator, so I lit them all now for the first time to make it obvious that I had come to stay. Keeping one eye on the balcony door, I peeled off my clothes, poured myself a bowl of water, and washed all over until the smell of wealth and decadence was gone from my cold skin. I walked into the bedroom, making a lot of noise, found a clean tunic I was fond of, then combed my hair. It was still too short to curl.

  All this time whoever it was went on waiting outside.

  I wanted to go to bed. I went back into the main room, picked up one of my lamps, then steered my tired legs out onto the balcony. I was utterly exhausted and completely unarmed.

  The air was soft, and faint noises of the city in the dark rose occasionally with that odd sharpness you get sometimes as sounds reach the sixth floor.

  “Now there’s a sight!”

  She was standing by the balustrade staring out, but as soon as I spoke she turned around: eyes like warm caramel in a creamy almond face. The gods only know how long she had been there; or what doubts assailed her confidence while she waited for me to come home.

  “Sosia wrote to me about your view.”

  “Not the view,” I said.

  And went on looking at Helena.

  She stood there, and I stood here, she in the dark and I with my lamp, neither of us certain any longer if we were friends. Distressed moths began to zoom in from the night. One day

  we would talk about what had happened, but not now; there was too much to re-establish between us first.

  “I thought you would never come. Are you drunk?” I had called at several all-night wine shops on my way home.

  “I’m sobering rapidly. How long have you been waiting?”

  “A long time. Are you surprised?”

  I thought about that. No. Knowing her, I was not surprised.