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

by Davis, Lindsey

  The smell of the smoke must have travelled. As a vigiles whistle sounded close by, Andronicus grasped my hand and, both laughing out loud, we finally turned the other way and made a run for it. So we vanished from the Temple area, shooting away into the night, just like the foxes.

  30

  We had scampered north because the shouts told us the vigiles were coming from the street on the temple’s entrance side. Heading away from them took us down off the hill near the corn dole station, after which our footsteps naturally led us to the Tiber Embankment. We walked, hand tightly in hand, through the long Porticus of the Trigeminal Gate. Its stalls had been closed up for the night, some of them actually towed away; although we passed the family stall of Lupus, the murdered oyster-shucker, no one was there and we did not mention it.

  We had calmed down, though were still prone to bumping our heads together, my dark crown against his ginger sideburns, and bursting into giggles. We were like naughty

  children, though what we had done made us far worse than scallywags. The consequences could have been dire, and not only for us. We might have wreaked terrible destruction; the hundred-year-old timbers on the temple’s roof would have gone up in an instant if a loose spark had flown to pediment height. Then who knows how far the flames would have spread? It was barely ten years since a huge fire had destroyed half of Rome; rebuilding still continued.

  We looked at the river. We sauntered along the Embankment by the old salt stores and moored boats, listening to the water lapping close, hearing noises from warehouse and tavern on both waterfronts. It was dark now, though only just. Rome was a mass of mysterious shapes and hidden buildings all around, with most of the remaining light suffusing the sky above us, where only a few shreds of cloud scudded slowly and as yet there were no stars. In mid-April, the weather was cool but bearable, an impetuous breeze carrying a faint hint of summer heat to come. Tiny lights had begun appearing, mere pinpoints. Where humans gathered for entertainment, occasional strings hung like beads in a goddess’s necklace in the heavens. Isolated spots high in buildings marked a

  scholar’s vigil or the restless sick.

  Andronicus and I were silent now. It grew colder close to the water; we had cloaks; we stopped holding hands and each gathered our outerwear around us, standing separate. At that moment the spot could have been romantic; later tonight it would become a disreputable haunt, favoured by prostitutes of all sexes and their clients, not to mention the purse-snatchers who preyed on them, generally in league with the whores. So far, sidewalks and roadways had been virtually clear. But now the daylight ban on wheeled vehicles lifted, so carts began to rattle up from the port into Rome. Pretty soon the streets would be hectic. With one accord we moved, turning back to home in again on the Aventine.

  We climbed the hill the same way we came down. Alone, I would not have done that, but I was letting Andronicus lead. He seemed to enjoy danger; he even took us past the back wall of the Temple again, to look down that narrow side street, the scene of our crime. The vigiles must have doused the bonfire and cleared the debris. We could hear voices from inside the store, though we could not see inside.

  ‘They will catch more foxes. They will bring in more torches. But we have caused them wonderful inconvenience—’ Andronicus winked at me. ‘And Faustus will hate this

  interfering with his festival management.’

  ‘You like that,’ I commented. Upsetting his master was probably why Andronicus had helped tonight.

  ‘Oh I do! We made him look useless. He will be livid!’

  He seemed to entertain no thought that what we had done was wrong. This was a big difference between us. A civilised society has to have rules (thank you, Ceres, for bringing mankind out of barbarian ways of living!). I was very aware we had broken those rules. To me, that was justified because a civilised person must always be ready to exercise choice. An individual must have, and use, a conscience. I looked wild, but these days it was an illusion; Andronicus looked respectable, but maybe with him that was deceptive. Tonight he seemingly had no conscience.

  The daft daredevil would have walked down the side street for a closer look, but I refused to go. I was perfectly capable of strolling up like an innocent passer-by, but why invite notice? I insisted we walked on a couple of blocks, turning in past the Temples of Flora and Luna, then worked our way to my home ground through a few secluded back streets, then the Street of the Armilustrium.

  We ended up at the Stargazer. It was a classic case of being desperate for wine, to heighten our mood again in the anti-climax after a wild adventure. Anyone who noticed the pair of us arrive, bright-eyed and breathless, must have thought we had come straight from a bed of hot passion. There were no free tables so we leaned on the counter. That was where we were, toying with nibbles and gulping vinum primitivum (the only palatable house wine my aunt stocked, which she swore was misnamed), when Tiberius and Morellus arrived. Neither was happy.

  Enough time had passed for them to have been summoned to the scene by the patrol that found the fire, to have surveyed the damage and to work up a theory. Well done, lads. Tiberius must have remembered me feeding Robigo; he knew I liked foxes. Now he and the vigiles investigator were here, looking for me. Seeing Andronicus with me just gave them more ideas.

  Morellus sombrely spelled out what had happened, with the air of a man who believed he was wasting effort on people who already knew. He was in his evening workwear: his ordinary daywear over his loose gut, plus a fire-axe through the back of his belt and a hefty nightstick in front. He looked as if he had neither for effect, but regularly used them. Tiberius sported the best tunic I had seen him wear, a pristine white effort; he looked short-tempered, as if he had been summoned from an evening of leisure he was sorry to miss. Andronicus might hope we had made Manlius Faustus livid, but the aedile himself would not be out tiptoeing through fetid alleyways at night-time, where drunks might insult him or sluts make indecent grabs under his toga. He had sent his man-in-the-street to suffer for him.

  ‘Look, Albia, we know you take a kind-hearted interest in wildlife.’ Morellus addressed me in his officially patronising voice. Tiberius just stood with his arms folded.

  ‘I see.’ I spat out an olive stone. ‘Of course I love animals. I was born in a province full of horses, where the barbarians worship hares – even when I came to Rome, it was me who walked the family dog. So, to a moron, that makes it obvious. Why bother looking for evidence, Morellus, when you can attack such an easy target?’

  ‘Where have you been this evening?’ he demanded patiently. Tiberius said nothing. Those grey eyes moved between us, observing, assessing, reaching bad conclusions. I found him more worrying than Morellus.

  ‘Here!’ Andronicus barged in, though I had been trying to leave him out of the conversation. ‘We were here, having supper and snuggles, all evening. Anyone can tell you.’

  Anyone could really have said he was lying – but nobody would. The usual moves had already taken place among the other customers: as soon as the vigiles arrived, they slid coins on to the counter for what they had consumed (underestimating heavily), and vanished. Morellus had brought a couple of his men with him, but they had conducted their own traditional moves; they stood by, looking gormless, while potential witnesses all made their exit.

  Time was, back in Londinium, I would have been the first to slide away. Now I was respectable and had to stand my ground. To Tiberius and Morellus running away would prove my guilt.

  The Stargazer had suddenly emptied, except for my cousin.

  Since the bar had been rather busy until now, Junillus had not cleared the counter. It was the night the other server took off to attend his club; Apollonius went to a weekly gathering of geometry puzzlers, a gentle hobby that had to remain unmentioned in front of anyone from the aediles’ office or the vigiles, especially in Rome’s current paranoid climate. Mathematics is a suspicious activity. All those hypotenuse drawings must be plans for assassination attempts. Algebra is treacherous
code. When did you ever meet a student of infinitesimal calculus who didn’t harbour rabid ambitions to rule the world? And anyone who tells you Archimedes was killed at the capture of Syracuse by a soldier who didn’t know who he was, is ignorant of how military forces work. There will have been a secret order: man making diagrams in the dust equals number one target.

  The runner’s expression said his target was me.

  So. Apollonius, who kept a meticulously neat bar counter, was not here. Junillus presided cheerily over honest mess. At my side, Andronicus waved his arm above the used bowls and beakers on the crude marble slabs. That should be enough. Nevertheless, a mime ensued where Andronicus asked Junillus if he had been serving us all evening. Morellus joined in, wagging his finger to notify Junillus that this was a matter of exorbitant importance.

  I watched apprehensively. Junillus leaned on his forearms. Pushing aside a long lock of hair that had drooped in his eyes, he frowned, to show he wanted to be sure he understood. He gestured to the food bowls, like a bad actor in a very tedious tragedy. In fact he had known me long enough to be sure I would never have ordered polenta at all, and if the stewed leeks with lentils had been mine, I would have cleaned up the gravy with my finger before finishing. I never leave my crockery full of crud.

  Junillus was a bright, humorous lad with a wicked side to him, who suffered from a disadvantage. He stood on his own feet. He took what came in life. But he had been adopted into the Didii, so he was ours. We all looked after him. I felt uncomfortable over this.

  Junillus lied to Morellus and the runner without thinking twice. ‘All night!’ he carolled, with characteristic heaviness in the syllables. His mother had laboriously taught him how to say words, but he overstressed his consonants and his vowels were too long. His speech always sounded odd, though when he kept it simple he was intelligible. ‘Albia at Stargazer.’ He signed to the fish picture. Then he beamed, looking around those standing at the counter like a particularly irritating acrobat seeking applause. The naughty boy was playing on his weakness. It worked just fine.

  Andronicus ought to have left it there, but he was carried away by the fun of invention. ‘You can tell the truth, Junillus – there was a long gap, when we went upstairs.’

  ‘Upstairs?’ demanded Morellus, who had known me a few years and rightly saw this as unusual. ‘What for?’

  ‘What do you think?’ scoffed Andronicus. Light from a small oil lamp glinted on his hair and beard as he responded. ‘This is a bar, they have rooms, customers break off from their meals for playtime.’

  I felt myself blush. It was routine in bars for sex to accompany the drink, a service usually sold by the waitress, though tired waitresses were often glad if customers just hired the rooms and made their own arrangements.

  The Stargazer had never had a waitress and I happened to know that despite various dubious events taking place in its two upstairs rooms, at present they were innocuously rented to a gang of jobbing builders from Gaul. They came to Rome to earn money and worked all hours, mixing concrete at the docks which is heavy labour; when they were here, they lined up like sardines in a trug and slept. Even my aunt said they caused no trouble.

  ‘Listen, Junillus! Did Flavia Albia spend this evening having bedroom fun upstairs?’ Morellus made a crude gesture to illustrate. I saw Junillus’ gaze waver because he knew I would give him trouble for this but, trying to please everyone, he gravely nodded. ‘Oh very good!’ Morellus groaned, adding to Tiberius that they could never put Junillus in court. ‘Nice alibi!’ he muttered to me. Of course he knew I was perfectly willing to sleep with Andronicus, though would prefer him not to boast in public. Tiberius’ disgusted face said he, for one, despised me.

  I cannot say my reputation was tarnished, but my dignity was distinctly affronted.

  Morellus did make one last pathetic attempt at an enquiry. He leaned suddenly towards me, sniffed at my cloak and announced, ‘You know, Albia, to an expert you smell distinctly of smoke!’

  Once again Andronicus produced a neat excuse. ‘That will be because she has been standing next to the grilling meat for hours.’

  ‘Meat!’ growled Morellus to the aedile’s man, suggesting this at least was a reason to arrest someone, but Tiberius just shook his head wearily. He had no heart for bar-food laws tonight. The Stargazer was safe.

  Junillus, who routinely used his deafness to assist in over-selling, pretended he thought ‘Meat’ was a food order, so he started laying out dishes of mutton morsels on beds of lettuce. The vigiles Morellus had brought with him reached for these, of course. Before long, drinks were being ordered. It was hard to tell that any law and order issue had been under debate. Even Tiberius was pecking at the mutton, sprinkling the charred cubes with oil to make them palatable, while he slowly unwound the bandage from his hand as if it was hurting him. Tonight’s bandage was another perfect white one to match his tunic; coordinating his accessories seemed an unlikely touch. Anyone would take him for a toff with a wardrobe keeper.

  Morellus and his men looked at the wound and winced. The scars each side of the runner’s hand were weeping, red and angry; the man himself looked a little feverish. The vigiles all came to inspect him like experts. Someone was sent to fetch their medical orderly with mastic salves.

  Andronicus and I were standing off to one side; it seemed best not to leave too precipitously, after we had made so much of our having been at the bar for the long term. He gave me a sideways look. ‘Would you happen to know how he acquired that?’

  ‘Why are you asking me? I’m not his mother. What does he say?’

  ‘He leant on a nail.’

  I chuckled. ‘Really? Has he always been an idiot?’

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Junillus slyly tidy away the skewers on which he had kebabbed that night’s titbits. My young cousin was needle-sharp. I loved that boy, and my sour feeling about him being persuaded to lie renewed itself.

  Not long afterwards I made my way out through the kitchen to what passed for a customers’ lavatory. As I went I winked at Junillus. He flashed me thanks for bringing so much custom. Behind me, the bar was humming.

  The latrine was a health hazard in a lean-to shack at the back. Most men ignored it and peed in the alley, so anyone in open sandals needed to step carefully. I did what I had to, then slipped away from the Stargazer without saying goodbye to anyone. The rest were now all men together and I had felt excluded. Even Andronicus was guffawing over some low joke with one of the vigiles. He seemed unlikely to notice I had gone.

  I went home.

  As I entered the Eagle Building, I caught a glimpse of some animal slinking away on the far side of the yard. It could have been a dog or cat. I hoped it was the vixen I had once watched bring her four cubs to exercise. She had lain under the steps on guard, looking exhausted by motherhood, while her boisterous offspring spent a good hour playing tag together, jumping on and off old washtubs delightedly.

  I told Rodan to lock up the grille and not allow anyone to come in tonight unless they lived here. ‘Does that include friends of yours?’

  ‘I have no friends, Rodan.’ This was a myth I liked to project: informers are moody, lonely folk. What informer can expect clients, if she is known for frittering away her time in a cheery social circle? ‘If one of my lovers turns up, I’m not in the mood. Snubbing him will just make him more keen tomorrow, won’t it?’

  ‘What lovers?’ asked Rodan, looking puzzled.

  Later, and not unexpectedly, I did hear Andronicus calling out. He sounded none too sober. Despite him rattling at the grille, Rodan must have been snoring on his pallet and never answered. One way and another, I was not ready for a first night of passion. Setting free the foxes together had thrilled me, but I was piqued by events at the Stargazer. I buried my head under the pillow until what passed for silence fell on Fountain Court.

  I knew I had acted against my own interest. That surely proved I was in love, or at least in lust. Tiffs and tussles are mandatory. I was old enou
gh to know how it works. This is how you test whether an affair is serious, as it provides the meat and muscle for the anguished poetry. You have to have pointless separations in the mating process, don’t you?

  31

  I awoke knowing it was now twelve days into April, which the Roman calendar describes as the day before the Ides. This was the start of the Cerialia festival. The organisers would hold sacrifices at the temple and a great horse race in the Circus; tonight would end with the ritual of the burning foxes. There was no longer much I could do about that.

  I tried. I never give up.

  I walked about the Aventine, searching for traps. They had placed more, presumably because they were now desperate. Each trap had a member of the vigiles on guard unobtrusively nearby, pretending to drink at a bar counter or leaning against a wall and using a twig as a toothpick.

  I was returning home despondently when I met Morellus. He bore me no hard feelings for yesterday, if only because he was too lazy to want to create a charge-sheet. He was convinced of my guilt, but realistic; without witnesses, his case was weak – not that that counted too much in a Roman court. He knew I could call on good people to speak for me, so whatever theatricals a prosecutor came up with, once my defence heavies began their sweet-talk, the case would be thrown out. My lawyers were the kind who would then demand remuneration for the ‘false’ accusation … Of course they would. The people I knew specialised in compensation claims.