The Ides of April: Falco: The New Generation (Falco: The Next Generation)

by Davis, Lindsey

‘Allowing the Britons to drink themselves silly in Londinium bars.’

  ‘By the way − you, dear girl, may look like a neat little Roman matron who has a distaff in one hand and household accounts in the other, but you have a muddy provincial background and may be a druid.’

  My heart sank again. ‘I solve my cases by waving a mistletoe bough over the evidence? Ridiculous. I did let people spread that rumour years ago, though believe me I never started it. Actually, all druids are devious old men. Uncombed beards and mystic secrets. They never write anything down, because then people could check on what dirty cheats they are. Then it was explained to me by a sharp lawyer that in Rome dabbling in magic is a capital offence.’

  ‘Faustus was told that you do indeed know some sharp lawyers.’ Andronicus was watching me keenly, but there was enough fun in his gaze for me to enjoy it.

  ‘More uncles. I consult them for free, every time we have a family party.’

  ‘So handy! … The well-known Camilli, I believe?’ Oh joy! Cassius Scaurus really had gone into detail. ‘Up-and-coming barristers – and both of them are in the Senate. That news was disconcerting to a plebeian aedile, I can tell you, Albia. He thinks himself so lofty – then he found out you were way above his level socially.’

  ‘You really do not like Faustus!’

  I asked him straight: what had the aedile done to him? Since we were exchanging personal information so openly today, Andronicus told me.

  Manlius Faustus was plebeian nobility, the kind that had a long history of confrontation with the Senate because their wealth made them so powerful they refused to be told what to do by the traditional aristocracy. Princes in trade and commerce. As Rome became a great empire, they had seen and exploited the possibilities: Faustus’ family commissioned, built and hired out warehouses. Through this, they had become extremely rich. Although they lived in modest style on the Aventine, it was thought they had chests of money, and they certainly owned a battalion of slaves, all high-priced ones, selected by the aedile’s uncle because they were beautiful or talented. These were groomed and educated with the same attention to detail with which the Fausti looked after their warehouses. A clerical freedman with this background could consider himself a highly desirable commodity.

  So, after being brought up and trained in the uncle’s house, once he was granted his freedom from slavery (now he did finally acknowledge his status), Andronicus had expected to be promoted. He had wanted a position as Manlius Faustus’ personal secretary. Faustus thought otherwise. He would not grant Andronicus that kind of access to his private papers. Andronicus felt the nephew should have fallen upon him gratefully as an assistant and confidant. Instead, Faustus not only refused, but arranged for him to work outside the house as an archivist at the Temple of Ceres.

  ‘I can just about put up with that – but then this year the swine gets himself elected as aedile. Of course Uncle Tullius fixed that, with vigorous wheeling and dealing, in the usual way. So now, I’m stuck with his godforsaken nephew on a daily basis, yet without the job I wanted – which in a just world was mine for the asking.’

  ‘Poor you.’

  ‘Thank you. I am indeed unfairly wretched.’

  Junillus had despaired of us ordering anything else we might actually pay for. Since we continued to occupy his best table, he dumped a pair of free drinks in front of us. He glared. We ignored that.

  ‘So,’ I said, as we raised our beakers together, ‘while Faustus and the miserable tribune were gossiping, what cunning fly-on-the-fresco position were you occupying?’

  ‘They were sitting outside in the courtyard. I placed myself by an open door in a room across the colonnade. Cassius Scaurus has a booming voice; Faustus is softly spoken—’

  ‘But tends only to listen?’

  ‘I thought you had never met him?’ Andronicus looked hurt that I had other sources of information.

  ‘Someone just happened to describe him. Maybe I should meet him – since he is so interested in me.’

  ‘No. Don’t have anything to do with him.’

  ‘Why not? What’s dangerous about Faustus?’

  ‘Listen to me. Just don’t.’

  Andronicus was so insistent, I feigned agreement. Of course, he only spurred my curiosity.

  To sidetrack him, I directed the talk back to my origins in Britain. I explained about being a miracle baby plucked from the ashes of ruined Londinium. As an archivist, Andronicus was fascinated. ‘So you do not have a birth certificate?’

  ‘That’s the least of my worries! Somewhere I may well have done. It was probably destroyed in the Rebellion – though if it survived, it would be useless because nobody knows it is mine.’

  ‘So you really are British?’

  ‘Probably not. I could be anything. Most slaves know more about themselves than I do.’

  ‘That’s hard. Is this something that an aedile could use against you, Albia?’

  ‘No.’ I spoke dispassionately. ‘I have full Roman citizenship. I have a properly executed diploma granting me that. As a citizen, I was formally adopted. Your man cannot touch me – even should he want to. And why would he, Andronicus?’

  ‘He can be vindictive if he’s crossed.’

  ‘What have I ever done to offend him?’

  ‘You are poking around.’

  ‘In what? If I have touched on something confidential, all Manlius Faustus has to do is explain. I am a reasonable woman − Look, can’t you see, this is why I feel maybe I should come and talk to him.’

  ‘He won’t see you.’

  ‘This is the second time someone has said that so adamantly. Why? Does the pompous being believe he is too phenomenally busy or –’ I was passionate now – ‘is he just terrified of women?’

  Andronicus gave thought to this. Eventually he said, as if light had suddenly beamed in through a shutter, ‘I think you just nailed it, Albia!’

  14

  We sat on in the caupona.

  Customers thinned out. Junillus mopped a cloth around, then sat by himself with some building plans. He was a bright boy. At various times my aunt had paid for him to have lessons, when she could root out an understanding teacher. He had studied geography and, I seemed to remember, mathematics. He particularly shone at geometry. Wrestling had preserved him from being bullied.

  Recently his parents had downsized to a new home after his father retired from government service; Junillus had grabbed the floorplans to put a stop to the kind of ghastly remodelling Junia and Gaius had imposed on their previous apartment. Gaius Baebius was a man who could not tell which end of a nail should be banged in. Nevertheless, he was always attempting to create a sophisticated sun terrace. His projects usually came to a standstill when he fell off a ladder and hurt his back.

  Andronicus and I talked, or sometimes did not talk. He seemed to have no need to return to the aediles’ office that afternoon. I could tell he had a maverick attitude; he came and went as he chose. This might displease a pernickety master.

  The weather was sunny, but not yet hot. April is one of the most pleasant months in many countries. I felt myself sliding into a dreamy state, not all of it caused by wine.

  The rest of the day passed easily. After a time, Andronicus and I, and my cousin, were the only people there. My dear cousin saw no reason to disappear and leave us in private. Despite being adopted, he possessed all the most annoying traits that ran in our family. It was interesting that he had absorbed the others’ bad points, whereas I remained so unquarrelsome and discreet.

  When people started dropping in on their way from work, Junillus stood up and began making pork nuggets to grill on skewers.

  I glanced at Andronicus. Meat dishes were banned in bars. His master, the aedile, would punish my aunt if this crime ever caught his eye. Andronicus grinned; he held no brief for Faustus in his official role. Junillus signalled forcefully that he would give us takeaway nuggets gratis, if we would just stop hogging his best table. (There were only two tables in the tiny i
ndoor space: the best and the one on the way to the latrine.) Most customers leant on the counter during daylight hours, but in the evening there was more demand for seating. Men who dropped in then were more likely to relax for longer; they liked to play dice and board games too. If they were sitting down with a table between them, there was a split second longer for intervention when they fell out over the game and tried to kill each other.

  So, we accepted a long kebab skewer and, you guessed it, took the nuggets home to mine.

  As we walked, the level of excitement between Andronicus and me rose significantly.

  I looked in on Rodan in case there were messages. The useless bundle was not there.

  Andronicus bounded ahead, going straight upstairs towards the office. Had he been slower, I was seriously intending to take him to my private apartment. By the time I caught up, my over-keen admirer had lost his chance. That did not mean he had lost altogether. He and I were extremely happy together by this stage. On one of the landings, Andronicus pulled me to him and we kissed. His kissing was light and fluttery, compared with how I really liked it, but naturally he was just making overtures for more serious work later …

  Up in the office, I ignored the armed chair and we settled side by side on the couch. It seemed the natural place to be. When Andronicus relaxed, with one arm along the back of the furniture, it seemed natural, too, that in due course the arm should slide down around my shoulders. I pretended not to regard it as significant. He pretended not to know he was doing it.

  Like anyone who has ever spent a long period as an unloved starveling, I ate my full share. I never waste food. Like any freedman from a privileged home, the archivist had been spoiled all his life. Whatever the miseries of slavery and of patronage after formal manumission, he had never had to earn his keep. Rome was full of people like him, who knew there would always be free food at home and who gave no thought to waste. He snatched at enough of the pork nuggets to keep him going, then concerned himself with other things.

  This meant, first the sliding of the arm. Then, stroking the back of my neck. Then, engaging more closely. He had one hand moving up my left arm, with his fingers encroaching well under my tunic; he had one hand cupping my chin for a kiss. Although my real concentration was elsewhere, I was fumbling with fasteners, to assist him. He was preparing to fondle where I was desperate to be fondled …

  I became reacquainted with that thrilling but slightly awkward moment when you adjust to a brand new lover. You are wondering what he will be like. Not quite in tune yet. Not absolutely certain that you have an understanding. Not wanting to admit your own desperate interest, in case you have misjudged his, and end up looking foolish …

  Of course I knew. Andronicus was my kind of hero: attractive, amusing, nice-looking, around my own age, of low-class origins and hungry for self-improvement. He made me laugh; how badly I had been missing that. He seemed devoted. We discussed my work, we ate and enjoyed wine together, we were plainly soulmates. I had fallen for him just about as hard as it is possible to fall. The fact that all my family would cluck that I had not known him long enough, and would warn me to be careful, only made the situation swooningly attractive.

  As we approached the final moment of full commitment, we were completely wrapped up in each other – yet not too much to be unaware of our surroundings. At exactly the same instant we both heard somebody coming. We pulled apart and tried to look nonchalant.

  Normally I heard visitors. Shoes or boots are noticeable if you are an alert person, and after six flights, most people arrived breathless and stumbling noisily. Someone who had managed not to do that was now outside, at the top of the stairs. This person had approached so quietly it could only be on purpose. They had crept up on us and were right outside my door, shamelessly fiddling with the latch.

  15

  I recognised the man who broke in. I had despised him at our first encounter, the time he barged into me at the aediles’ office; I took against him furiously now. It was the fellow called Tiberius, who was supposed to act as a runner for the magistrates.

  He was stocky, the way my plebeian grandfather had been – not overweight, yet strong in the body, with sturdy legs. His shoulders could have broken down my door had he not successfully manoeuvred the latch instead. Today he was in a porridge-coloured tunic in some rough material that must be itchy; he kept scratching absent-mindedly, though I saw no fleas hop off. A wide, crude belt held him in. The same cloak as last time was folded over one shoulder; this must be his informal indoors mode.

  If the aedile’s uncle chose his slaves for their beauty, he must have sent a short-sighted steward the day this man was first purchased, assuming he had once been bought in the slave market. The unshaven face gave him the classic look of any worker on the Roman streets. He could be a driver or a rent collector. More than a manual labourer, however: a man doing some job that called for competence, with considerable trust from whoever employed him. There was nothing timid in his manner.

  ‘Cosy!’ he commented sourly. He had sized up the situation between Andronicus and me, even though we were acting unflustered. It was the first time I had heard him speak. His accent was more refined than his appearance suggested. Like the archivist, he was presumably a freedman now. He would have been encouraged to develop a diction to suit their well-off home.

  I glared. ‘Most people knock,’ I stated in a cold voice. ‘Most people think they should let a householder believe that the right to admit visitors lies in their own control.’

  Tiberius gave me a steady, half-amused stare. He had grey eyes. I always notice that. Mine are the same. His were a chillier colour; mine had been blue when I was younger.

  The general crowd in Rome have brown eyes, though there are many of blue and grey. Nero had blue eyes. Grey is not significant. I was never going to fantasise that this fellow might be related to me. All the same, I do notice.

  ‘You are Flavia Albia!’ He did not wait for a snappy retort. It was just as well, because I was so surprised at the way he burst in that no ideas were flowing. Inevitably, I would find plenty of thoughts to sum him up later. The wit would not be complimentary.

  He turned his attention to Andronicus. ‘You have been missed – at work and at home.’ Andronicus showed no reaction. Tiberius snapped back to me. ‘I need to speak with you – not now. It’s too late and, frankly, it’s inconvenient. I am putting you on notice. I shall call tomorrow morning. Be in − if you can manage that for once.’ I gathered he had tried to find me previously. Once more, he spoke to Andronicus. ‘I am going to the house for dinner. You can walk with me.’

  It was not exactly an order. Still, the way he spoke left little choice. As a ‘runner’ he was no more than a messenger, even if the errands he was sent on meant his master trusted him. He was several years older, though hardly superior to an archivist, least of all one who had been assigned that role in a major temple. As his equal, therefore, I half expected Andronicus to argue. Instead, he shot me one of his rueful looks and swung to his feet, ready to leave with the other man.

  I tried to understand. Andronicus might be reluctant to admit that there was something between him and me. I knew better than to question the dynamics of a strange household, but if he left meekly, I was bound to start wondering if I had been wrong. If, after all, we were not soulmates.

  They did leave together. I heard their feet clattering downstairs, this time even Tiberius making a noise as he went. As far as I could tell, they were not speaking.

  I was furious, tantalised, passionately disappointed.

  I did what women have to do: I tidied the office; took the Stargazer’s titbit skewer downstairs to wash and return to the caupona tomorrow; retreated glumly to my apartment; went to bed alone.

  That night I heard the terrible, near-human screams that I knew to be the foxes. It was unlikely anyone else noticed. Violence and fear were commonplace in the hours of darkness and few would want to investigate.

  It reminded me that soon offici
als of the Temple of Ceres would be setting traps to catch the necessary animals for their horrible ritual. That plebeian aedile, Manlius Faustus, would be supervising the Games, so he must have an interest in the ritual with the torches. It made another reason for me to dislike him.

  16

  I woke feeling groggy. Though sluggish and bitter, I was determined to rebel against the abominable Tiberius. No stubbly factotum would command me to stay in for an appointment. Nor would I ever forgive his interruption of my tryst. It was clearly malicious; he broke us up last night deliberately.

  I lay for a while in the arid mood of a physically frustrated woman. I looked around the apartment, remembering how my husband and I had made love here together with such energetic young joy.

  I had brought no man here since I lost him. This had been our place. After eight years, it was unsentimentally my place, where I could do as I chose; even so, only a really good love affair would make me break the chaste regime I had imposed on these rooms after Lentullus died.

  I was now ready to allow a new man in; I knew that.

  It would have been, could have been Andronicus last night, even though my head said it was too soon in our relationship to open my home to him. I was half glad he had pre-empted me by rushing up to the office. On the other hand, if we had been secreted here in my apartment, Tiberius would never have found us … Although Andronicus was a vibrantly intelligent man, he had apparently not noticed there was no proper bed up in my office. He cannot ever have wondered where I usually slept. No informer would have missed that point.

  There had been men before. I was no Vestal. Well, these days not even the Vestals were Virgins. If the rumours were true, all those hard-faced venerated women took lovers. As for me, I had on–off affairs, occasionally with people I liked a lot. None lasted. Being truthful, none so far had been connections I really wanted to last. I took one or two of the least dopey to family occasions, though that was never a success. Their deficiencies were soon exposed because Manlius Faustus was not the only person in Rome who used background checks; I had my personal scrutineer, whether I wanted it or not. Once our loving father scented any male interest in one of his daughters, he soon prepared an informer’s dossier on her suspect friend. He had been doing this professionally for a lifetime, so he was brutally good at discovering faults.