Venus in copper mdf-3

by Lindsey Davis

  'I could be in the market.' I followed him as far as the balcony door.

  'Try Cossus,' Hyacinthus offered helpfully. 'He's a letting agent in the Vicus Longus- a dozy pomegranate, but reliable. He has plenty of decent property for men of affairs.

  Mention my name and he'll be sure to look after you-'

  'Thanks. I may do that.' I deduced that Hyacinthus thought his suggestion earned him a tip. I keep a half-aureus sewn in the hem of my tunic, but there was no way I would part with that for a slave. All I could find was a thin copper as which no self-respecting latrinekeeper would accept as an entrance fee.

  'Thanks, Falco. That should swell my freedom fund!'

  'Sorry. I've been out of touch with my banker!' I tried to make my spell in the Lautumiae sound like a secret mission in Lower Parthia, so he could go home with a good report for my prospective clients.

  Chapter V

  The freedman Hortensius Novus lived in the north of the city, on the scented slopes of the Pincian Hill. His house stood surrounded by a perfectly plain wall of sufficient height to prevent people peeping over the top, had any of his well-heeled neighbours lived near enough. None of them did. It was an area where the grounds of the private villas were even more spacious than the public gardens which were graciously allowed to fill the lesser spaces in between. If I say that one of those was the Garden of Lucullus, which the Empress Messalina had prized so highly she executed its owner when he declined to sell, this gives a fair idea of the scale of the private mansions on Pincian Hill.

  I talked myself through the Hortensius gatehouse, then hiked along the hillside on their broad gravel drive. There was plenty of landscape to occupy me. Luckily I had stopped at a sweetmeat stall and made some enquiries, so I was to some extent prepared for the opulence of the freedman's estate. His box trees clipped like winged griffons, his pale statues of broad-browed goddesses, his intricate pergolas swagged with roses and vines, his massive alabaster urns with blush-pink veining, his dovecotes, his fishpools, his marble seats in intimate arbours with views across neatly scythed lawns, were a treat.

  I was admitted past the bronze sphinxes guarding the white marble entrance steps into a formal entrance hall with heavy black pillars. There I tapped my boot gently on a white and grey geometric mosaic until a tired servant appeared. He took my name then led me through the delicate ferns and fountains to an elegant inner court where one of the three Hortensius freedmen had recently installed a new statue of himself, in his best toga, looking important and holding a scroll. This was, I decided, what my landing needed at the Falco residence: me in Carrara marble, like a plush prig with lots of money who felt satisfied with his world. I made a note to order one- some day.

  I ended up in a reception room, alone. Throughout the house I had glimpsed burnt-out tapers and torches. A faint whiff of stale garlands hung round the corridors, and from time to time when a door opened I caught the sound of last night's dishes clattering. A message came from Sabina Pollia asking me to wait. I guessed that the lady was not yet up and dressed. I decided to reject the case if she turned out to be a rich party-giving slut.

  After half an hour I grew bored and wandered off down a corridor, exploring. Everywhere was hung with lavishly dyed curtains, slightly crumpled; the furniture was exquisite, yet jumbled into the rooms quite haphazardly. The decor was a strange mixture too: white stuccoed ceilings, deliriously delicate, above wall paintings of grossly erotic scenes. It was as if they had bought whatever they were offered by every fast-talking salesman who came along, without reference to a design plan, let alone taste. The only thing the artwork had in common was that it must have cost thousands.

  I was amusing myself putting an auction price to a Phidias 'Venus adjusting her Sandal' (which gave every appearance of being original, unlike almost every other Phidias you run across in Rome) when a door flew open behind me and a female voice cried, 'There you are!'

  I spun round guiltily. When I saw what she looked like, I did not apologise.

  She was a peach. She had kissed farewell to forty, but if she ever went to the theatre she would attract more attention than the play. Her melting dark brown eyes were outlined with kohl, yet even left to nature those eyes would cause moral damage to any man with a nervous system as susceptible as mine. The eyes were set in a near perfect face, and the face belonged to a body which made the Phidias Venus look like an out-of-condition eggseller who had been on her feet all day. She knew exactly the effect she had; I was swimming in perspiration where I stood.

  Since I had asked for Sabina Pollia, I assumed this was she. From behind her two burly boys in vibrant blue livery surged towards me.

  'Call off your dogs!' I commanded. 'I have an invitation from the lady of the house.'

  'Are you the informer?' The direct way she spoke suggested that if it suited her she might not be a lady.

  I nodded. She signalled the two flankers to back off. They stepped aside just enough for privacy though near enough to lather me soundly if I tried to cause offence. I had no intention of doing that-unless someone offended me first. 'If you ask me,' I said frankly, 'a lady should not need a bodyguard in her own home.'

  I kept my face neutral while madam toyed with the suspicion that I had just accused her of being a common piece. 'I'm Didius Falco. Sabina Pollia, presumably?' I offered my paw for a handshake in a deliberately unconventional way. She looked unhappy, but accepted it. She had small hands with many jewelled finger-rings; short fingers with pale oval fingernails like a girl's.

  Sabina Pollia made up her mind, and dismissed the two boys in the Adriatic uniforms. A lady ought to have sent for a chaperone; apparently she forgot. She threw herself onto a couch, rather untidily; the graceful Venus had the advantage of her now.

  'Tell me about yourself, Falco!' A risk of my trade: she intended to enjoy herself, interrogating me. 'You're a private informer- how long have you been in that business?'

  'Five years. Since I was invalided out of the legions.'

  'Nothing serious?'

  I gave her a dry, slow smile. 'Nothing that prevents me doing what I want to do!'

  Our eyes met, lingeringly. Getting this beauty to discuss my commission was going to be hard work.

  She was one of those classic kittens with a straight nose down the centre of a balanced face, clear skin, and extremely regular teeth-a perfect profile, though slightly lacking in expression since the owners of very beautiful faces never need to express character to get what they want; besides, too much expression might crease the paint they never need but always use. She was slight, and played on it- bold snake-headed bracelets to emphasise the delicacy of her arms, and a little, girlishly wounded pout. It was designed to melt a man. Never one to quibble when a woman makes an effort, I melted obediently.

  'I hear you work for the Palace, Falco- though my servant tells me you are not allowed to say anything about that…'

  'Correct.'

  'Being a private informer must be fascinating?' She was evidently hoping for some scandalous revelations about past clients.

  'Sometimes,' I answered unhelpfully. Most of my past clients were people I preferred to forget.

  'You had a brother who was a military hero, I hear.'

  'Didius Festus. He won the Palisaded Crown in Judaea.' My brother Festus would think it hilarious that I had gained status through being related to him. 'Did you know him?'

  'No- should I?'

  'A lot of women did.' I smiled. 'Sabina Pollia, I gather there is something I may be able to help you with?'

  These doll-like creatures whip to the mark like artillery bolts. 'Why, Falco- what are you good at?'

  I decided it was time to reassert my grip on the situation. 'Lady, what I'm good at is my job! Can we proceed?'

  'Not before time!' Sabina Pollia retorted.

  Why do I always get the blame?

  'If I understood Hyacinthus, this is a family problem?' I asked somewhat dourly.

  'Not quite!' Pollia laughed. She gave me t
he vulnerable pout again, but I had never been fooled by it; the lady was tough. 'We need you to keep the problem out of the family!'

  'Then let's describe the "family" first. Hortensius Novus lives here; and who else?'

  'We all live here. I am married to Hortensius Felix; Hortensia Atilia is the wife of Hortensius Crepito-' Slaves intermarrying: a common development.

  'Novus sits among this brotherly triumvirate, still a happy bachelor?'

  'So far,' she replied, with tension in her voice. 'But they are not brothers, Falco! What gave you that idea?'

  I was thrown off balance slightly. 'The set-up; same names; you call yourselves a family-'

  'We are none of us related. Though we are one family. Our patron's name was Hortensius Paulus.'

  So to add to the normal inconvenience that every Roman is reverently named after his father, as are his brothers and sons, here I had a whole gang of ex-slaves, each bearing their old master's patronymic now they were free. Females too: 'Hortensia Atilia must be a freed-woman of the same household?'

  'Yes.'

  'But not you?'

  'Oh yes.'

  'Your name is different-' Sabina Pollia raised the proud pared crescents of her eyebrows, amusing herself at my expense. 'I'm struggling here!' I admitted freely.

  'I worked for the woman of the house,' she stated. The words 'belonged to' and 'was freed by' slipped by unsaid. 'I took her title… Falco, is this relevant?'

  'It helps.' Mainly it helped me hold back accidental insults; I hate to offend my paying clients, in case they pay me less. 'To sum up: five of you were given your release for good service-' Set free by the Paulus will, no doubt. 'You have lived together; married amongst yourselves; worked together, ever since.' As the minimum age for a slave's manumission is thirty, a shrewd glance at Pollia suggested she had been on the loose in society for at least ten years. More, I thought, forgetting to be tactful about the lady's age. 'You have a well-established household; visibly prosperous. I can work out the rest: enter an outsider-who may be a floosie but we'll come to that in a minute-and entraps your one loose end. You want me to fend her off?'

  'You're sharp, Falco.'

  'I like to eat… How far have things gone?'

  'Hortensius Novus has had himself formally betrothed.'

  'Rash man! Before I take the case,' I pondered thoughtfully, 'tell me why I should believe that you and Atilia are not simply annoyed at this clever operator for disrupting your routine?'

  Pollia seemed to accept that it was a fair question. 'Naturally our concern is for our old friend's happiness.'

  'Naturally!' I exclaimed. 'Though I gather there's an amount of cash at stake?'

  'If Hortensius Novus brings home a bride who has the right motives we shall welcome her.' I found it a marvel that two women could share one household, let alone three. I said so. She explained the harmonious arrangements they had devised: 'Felix and I live in this wing; Crepito and Atilia have the far side. We meet for business and entertainment in the formal rooms at the centre of the house-'

  'Where does Novus squeeze in?'

  'He has a suite on an upper floor-more than ample, Falco.'

  'We bachelors have restrained tastes. But if he weds, can you accommodate a third married couple?' I asked, wondering if all I had to sort out here was the normal sort of housing problem that blights family life in Rome.

  'Easy enough.' Sabina Pollia shrugged. 'Our architect would build on a new wing.'

  'We come to the crunch question then: if Novus taking a wife causes no problems domestically, what is so distressing to you and Atilia about his ladyfriend?'

  'We believe she intends to kill him,' Sabina Pollia said.

  Chapter VI

  Informers are simple people. Given a dead body our response is to look for the killer- but we like the body first; it seems more logical.

  'Lady, in good Roman society, mentioning a murder before it even happens is considered impolite.'

  'You think I'm making this up!' Pollia rolled her magnificent eyes.

  'It sounds so ridiculous, I'm taking you seriously! When people invent, they usually choose a story that's plausible.'

  'This is true, Falco.'

  'Convince me.'

  'The woman has had husbands before-three of them!'

  'Oh we live in slack times. Nowadays five weddings is the minimum to count as reprehensible…'

  'None of her previous husbands survived long- ' Pollia insisted; I was still grinning evilly. 'And each time she walked away from the funeral far wealthier!'

  I let the grin evaporate. 'Ah! Money lends this story of yours a genuine patina… Incidentally, what's her name?'

  Pollia shrugged (negligently revealing her beautiful white shoulders between the sparkling dress pins on her sleeves). 'She calls herself Severina. I forget her other title.'

  I made a note in my pocketbook with a stylus I kept handy. 'Forename, Severina; cognomen unknown… Is she attractive?'

  'Juno, how should I know? She must have something, to persuade four different men-men of substance-to marry her.'

  I made another note, this time mentally: bright personality. (That could be difficult.) And possibly intelligent. (Even worse!)

  'Does she make a secret of her past?'

  'No.'

  'Flaunts it?'

  'No to that too. She just lets it be known as if having three short-lived husbands who happened to leave her everything were commonplace.'

  'Clever.'

  'Falco, I told you she was dangerous!' Things began to look intriguing (I was a man; I was normal: dangerous women always fascinated me).

  'Pollia, let us be clear about what you want from me: I can investigate Severina, hoping to nail her with her past indiscretions-'

  'You'll find no evidence. There was a praetor's enquiry after her third husband died,' Pollia complained. 'Nothing came of it.'

  'Praetors miss things. It may help us. Even gold-diggers are human; so they make mistakes. After three successes, people like this start believing themselves demigods; that's when people like me can trap them. Tell me, is Hortensius Novus aware of her history?'

  'We made him ask her about it. She had an answer for everything.'

  'A professional bride would come prepared. I'll try to frighten her off anyway. Sometimes finding themselves under scrutiny is enough- they scuttle away to prey on an easier mark. Have you considered offering her money?'

  'If it will help. We have plenty.'

  I grinned, thinking ahead to my bill. I had known rich people who hid their wealth with decent secrecy, and I had known men who owned immense estates but treated it quite matter-of-factly. The open vulgarity of Sabina Pollia's boast made me realise that I had stepped into a brash new world. 'I'll find out her price then-'

  'If she has one!'

  'She will have! Bound to be less than Hortensius Novus imagines. Realising how small a value she sets on him has helped many an infatuated lover see his beloved with new eyes.'

  'You are a cynic, Falco!'

  'I've done a lot of work for men who drought they were in love.'

  She was looking at my slyly through half-closed eyes. We were back on the suggestive tack again. 'Falco, don't you like women?'

  'I love them!'

  'Anyone in particular?'

  'I'm very particular,' I retaliated rudely.

  'Our information was different.' Their information was out of date. 'I ask,' Pollia justified the question with outrageous wide-eyed innocence, 'because I am wondering whether you will be safe from Severina's wiles…'

  'Severina will grant me complete immunity- the minute she learns that the Falco bankbox contains only my birth certificate, my discharge from the legions, and a few suffocated moths!'

  I screwed the subject back to business, obtained a few more facts I needed (an address, the name of a praetor, and most importantly, agreement on my fee), then I took my leave.

  As I skipped down the broad white marble entrance steps, frowning becaus
e they were so slippery (like the householders), I noticed a sedan chair which had just arrived.

  There were six carriers in cobalt livery, huge, broad-shouldered, glossy black Numidians who could push across the Forum of the Romans from the Tabularium to the Hall of the Vestals without once losing step despite the crowds. The chair had gleaming woodwork inlaid with tortoiseshell, crimson curtains, a lacquered Gorgon on the door and silver finials on the poles. I pretended I had twisted my ankle, so I could hang about to inspect whoever would descend.

  I was glad I waited.

  I guessed it was Atilia.

  She was a woman who wore a half-veil because it made her more attractive; above the veil's embroidered edge glowed dark, solemn eyes of oriental origin. She and Pollia had access to a great deal of money, and evidently spent as much as they could on themselves. She jingled with expensive filigree jewellery. She wore so much gold that such a weight on one woman was certainly illegal. Her dress was that shade of amethyst where the rich tint really looks as if ground-up gemstones created the dye. As she came up the steps I saluted her in a pleasant manner and stood aside.

  She removed the veil.

  'Good morning!' It was the best I could manage; I was struggling for breath.

  This one was as cool as the icecap on Mount Ida. If Sabina Pollia was a peach, the new apparition was a fruit of rich, dark mystery from some exotic province where I had not yet been.

  'You must be the investigator.' He expression was earnest, and highly intelligent. I was under no illusions; in the old Hortensius household she was probably a kitchenmaid- yet she had the gaze of an articulate eastern princess. If Cleopatra could raise a look like this, it explained why respectable Roman generals had queued up to throw away their reputations on the mudbanks of the Nile.

  'I'm Didius Falco… Hortensia Atilia?' She nodded assent. 'I'm glad of an opportunity to pay my respects-'

  Her exquisite face grew sombre. A serious mood suited her; any mood would. 'Forgive me for not attending your interview; I was taking my young son to school.' A devoted mother: wonderful! 'Do you think you will be able to help us, Falco?'