‘My superiors know.’ His superiors, however, would not take kindly to angry visits to the tribune’s office by the termagant Cornella Flaccida. This stinging hornet could cause Petro’s dismissal.
‘Florius hasn’t heard about it yet.’
‘Oh, I’m terrified.’
‘You’d better be!’ yelled Flaccida. ‘I’ve still got friends. I don’t want you showing your face at our house – and I promise you, Milvia’s not coming to see you either!’
She turned away. At that moment Helena Justina lost her hold on Nux, who tore down from our apartment, a shaggy bundle of grey and brown fur, with her ears back and her sharp teeth bared. Nux was small and smelly, with a canine distaste for domestic upsets. As Flaccida stepped back into her litter, the dog raced straight for her, seized the embroidered hem of her expensive gown, and then backed away on her strong legs. There seemed to be diggers and boar-hunters somewhere in Nux’s lineage. Flaccida slammed the litter door for her own safety. We heard a satisfying wrench of expensive material. Shrieking abuse, the dame ordered her bearers to be off, while my stubborn hound gripped her skirt hem until it tore free.
‘Good dog!’ cried Petronius and I. Nux wagged her tail proudly as she worried half a yard of Coan gown as if it were a dead rat.
Petro and I exchanged a private glance, not quite looking up at Helena. Then we gave each other a grave public salute. He went up to the old apartment, bouncing on his heels like a chirpy dissident. I went home, looking like a good boy.
My darling’s eyes were warm and friendly, and richly brown as the meat sauces at Imperial banquets. Her smile was dangerous. I kissed her anyway. A man should not be intimidated on his own doorstep. The kiss, though, was formally on the cheek.
‘Marcus! What was all that about?’
‘Just a homecomer’s greeting –’
‘Fool! The fright who left her flounce behind? Didn’t I recognise Cornella Flaccida?’ Helena had once helped me interview the woman.
‘At a guess, somebody has upset Balbina Milvia, and she’s gone crying home to Mother. Mother came dashing to scold the delinquent lover. Poor Mother must be very alarmed indeed to discover that a member of the vigiles has easy access to her household. She must be wetting herself at the thought of him winding his way into Milvia’s confidence.’
‘Do you think she spanked Milvia?’
‘It would be the first time. Milvia was brought up a spoiled princess.’
‘Yes, I gathered that,’ replied Helena, rather laconically.
‘Oh?’ I asked, feigning mild curiosity. ‘Can it be that the princess has just had a hard time from more than her scraggy bag of a parent?’
‘It is a possibility,’ Helena conceded.
‘I wonder who that might be?’
‘Someone she met when she was out riding in her nice litter maybe?’ Helena returned my formal kiss on the cheek, greeting me like a demure matron after my afternoon away. She smelt of rosemary hairwash and attar of roses. Everything about her was soft and clean and begging to be intimately fondled. I could feel myself going twittery. ‘Maybe that will teach Milvia to stay at home plying her loom,’ she said.
‘As you do?’ I walked her indoors, getting both arms round her. Nux scampered after us, alert to canoodling she could bark at.
‘As I do, Marcus Didius.’
Helena Justina did not possess a loom. Our apartment was so tiny we did not have much room for it. If she had asked she could have had one. Obviously I would encourage traditional virtuous pursuits. But Helena Justina hated long, repetitive tasks.
She stayed indoors and worked in wool? Like most Romans I was forced to admit, no; not my devoted turtledove.
At least I knew how mine behaved, even when I was away from home. Well, so I told myself.
XXX
PETRONIUS CAME OVER to fetch me the next morning. He looked like a man who had failed to supply himself with breakfast. Since I was the cook in our household, I was able to let him have some of our bread rolls, while Helena ate hers in silence. She had fetched them, running down barefoot that morning to buy them fresh from Cassius, then I had arranged them in a neat pattern in the bowl.
‘You’re in charge, I see, Falco.’
‘Yes, I’m a stern Roman paternalist. I speak; my women veil their heads and scurry to obey.’
Petronius snorted, while Helena wiped honey from her lips fastidiously.
‘What was all that fuss yesterday?’ she asked him outright, to show how subservient she was.
‘The old battering ram’s terrified that I’ll infiltrate too far and put the screw on the gangs again by acquiring inside knowledge. She thinks Milvia is daft enough to tell me anything I ask.’
‘Whereas the rest of us know you don’t go there to talk . . . Interesting situation,’ I mulled, teasing him. Then I told Helena, ‘Apparently Milvia is now chasing Lucius Petronius, while her formally ardent lover has actually been witnessed trying to dodge out of the way.’
‘Oh? Why can that be?’ Helena queried, subjecting him to a bright look.
‘Frightened of her ma,’ I grinned.
Petro scowled. ‘Milvia has suddenly acquired some very peculiar notions.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘You mean she finally noticed you’re no good?’
‘No. She wants to leave Florius.’ He had the grace to blush slightly.
‘Oh dear!’
‘And live with you?’ asked Helena.
‘And marry me!’
Helena took it more stalwartly than I did. ‘Not a good idea?’
‘Helena Justina, I am married to Arria Silvia.’ Helena restrained herself from commenting on his bold claim. ‘I concede,’ Petro went on, ‘Silvia may dispute that. It just shows how little Silvia knows about anything.’
Helena passed him the honey. I was expecting her to throw it at him. We kept our honey in a Celtic face-pot we had acquired when travelling through Gaul. Petro eyed it askance. Then he held it up, rudely comparing the round-eyed cartoon features with my own.
‘So you were never serious about Milvia?’ Helena grilled him.
‘Not in that way. I’m sorry.’
‘When men need to apologise, why can they only say it to the wrong person? And now she wants to be more important to you?’
‘She thinks she is. She’ll figure it out.’
‘Poor Milvia,’ murmured Helena.
Petronius made an attempt to look responsible. ‘She’s tougher than she looks. She’s tougher even than she thinks she is.’
Helena was wearing an expression that said she thought Milvia might turn out to be tougher – and much more trouble – than Petro himself yet realised. ‘I’ll be going to see your wife today, Lucius Petronius. Maia’s coming with me. I haven’t seen the girls for ages, and I have some things for them that we brought from Spain. Are there any messages?’
‘Tell Silvia I promised to take Petronilla to the Games. She’s old enough now. If Silvia leaves her at her mother’s tomorrow, I’ll pick her up and return her there.’
‘Her mother’s? You’re trying to avoid seeing Silvia?’
‘I’m trying to avoid being battered and browbeaten. Anyway, if I go to the house, it upsets the cat.’
‘This won’t get you all back together again.’
‘We’ll sort it out,’ snapped Petronius. Helena took a deep breath, then once again said nothing. ‘All right,’ he told her, capitulating. ‘As Silvia would remark, that’s what I always say.’
‘Oh, I’ll keep quiet then,’ Helena returned, not unkindly. ‘Why don’t you two men talk about your work?’
There was no need. Things had taken off at last. Today we knew what we had to do, and what we hoped to learn.
Not long afterwards I kissed the baby, kissed Helena, burped, scratched myself, counted my small change and took a vow to earn more, combed my hair roughly, and set out with Petronius. We had avoided telling Frontinus our plans. In his place we had Nux. Helena would not be taking her visiting as our dog was deadly en
emies with Petro’s famous cat. I didn’t mind in the least if Nux savaged the flea-ridden creature, but Petronius would turn nasty. Besides, Helena did not need a guard dog if she was with my sister Maia. Maia was more aggressive than anything they might meet on a short walk over the Aventine.
Petro and I were going the other way. We were off to Cyclops Street on the Caelian. We had to interview Asinia’s friend.
Her name was Pia, but the scruffy building she lived in convinced us in advance that her lofty name would be inappropriate. Hard to tell how she had ever become friendly with anyone who gloried in Asinia’s good reputation, though we had heard the relationship went back years. I was too old to worry about how girls chose their friends.
We climbed several flights of stinking stairs. A janitor with a goitre let us in, but he declined to come up with us. We passed dark doorways, barely lit by slits in the blackened walls. Dirt marked our tunics where we brushed against the render as we turned corners. Where shafts of light intruded, they were thick with motes of dust. Petronius coughed. The sound echoed hollowly, as if the building was deserted. Maybe some tycoon was hoping to drive out his remaining tenants so he could redevelop at a profit. While the place waited to be torn down, the air had filled with the dank smell of despair.
Pia was hoping for visitors. She looked even more interested when she saw that there were two of us. We let her know we weren’t buying, and she relapsed into a less friendly mood.
She was lounging on a reading couch, though apparently not for mental improvement. There was nothing to read. I doubted if she could. I didn’t ask. She had long hair in a strange shade of vermilion, which she probably called auburn. Her eyes were almost invisible amongst dark circles of charcoal and coloured lead. She looked flushed. It wasn’t good health. She wore a short undertunic in yellow and a longer, flimsier outer one in a nasty burnt turquoise; the outer garment had holes in it, but she had not stopped wearing it. Gauzes don’t come cheap. Every finger was horribly ringed, seven greenish chains choked her scrawny neck, she had bracelets, she had base metal charms on fragile ankle chains, she had jingling ornaments in her tresses. Pia overdid everything except taste.
Still, she could be a warm-hearted honest poppet for all that.
‘We want to talk about Asinia.’
‘Sod off the pair of you,’ she said.
XXXI
‘YOU LIKE A challenge; you can start,’ I told Petronius. ‘No; you’re the expert with unpleasant hags,’ he courteously replied.
‘Well, you choose,’ I invited Pia. ‘Which of us?’
‘Stuff you both.’ She stretched her legs, letting us see them. It would have been better if they had been cleaner and not so sturdy in the knee.
‘Nice pins!’ Petronius lied in his light, admiring tone. The one they believed for about three seconds before they noticed it came with a sneer.
‘Get lost.’
‘Play us a new tune, darling.’
‘How long did you know Asinia?’ I threw in. Petronius and I would share the questioning between us and it was my turn now.
‘Years and years.’ Despite her bluster she could not resist answering.
‘How did you first meet?’
‘When she was serving in the shop.’
‘The chandlery? Were you sent there shopping?’ I had guessed, though refrained from saying, that Pia was a slave at the time. She must be independent now, though hardly in funds.
‘We liked a chat.’
‘And to go to the Games together?’
‘No harm in that.’
‘No harm at all – if you really went.’
‘We did!’ It came out fast and indignant. So far the tale was true.
‘Did Asinia have a boyfriend?’ Petronius took over.
‘Not her.’
‘Not one she hadn’t told even you about?’
‘I’d like to see her try. She couldn’t keep a secret, that one. Not that she ever wanted to.’
‘She loved her husband?’
‘More fool her. Have you met him? He’s a weed.’
‘His wife is missing. It’s understandable.’ Wasting his breath, Petronius reproved the girl, while she just wound her grubby fingers annoyingly in her tousled hair. ‘So nobody came with you, and Asinia didn’t meet anyone afterwards? Then you’d better talk about what happened when you came out from the Circus.’
‘Nothing happened.’
‘Something happened to Asinia,’ I said, taking over again.
‘Nothing’s happened to her.’
‘She’s dead, Pia.’
‘You’re fooling me.’
‘Somebody killed her and cut her up in bits. Don’t worry; we’ll find her gradually, though it may take a few years.’
She had gone pale. She looked far away. Obviously Pia was thinking It could have been me!
Petronius resumed harshly: ‘Who did she meet, Pia?’
‘Nobody.’
‘Don’t lie. And don’t be afraid we’ll tell Caius Cicurrus. We can be discreet, if need be. We want the true story. Whoever Asinia took off with is a dangerous killer; only you can get him stopped.’
‘Asinia was a good girl.’ We said nothing. ‘She really was,’ Pia insisted. ‘She didn’t go off with anyone; I did. I met someone. Asinia said she’d go home.’
‘Here?’
‘No. I needed to bring my man back here, stupid! She was going back to her own place.’
‘How was she getting there?’
‘Walking. She said she didn’t mind.’
‘I thought the pair of you hired a litter? Cicurrus thinks that’s what happened. You told him you came with Asinia all the way to her own door.’
‘We’d spent our cash. Anyway, it was late. The Circus was turning out. All the hired chairs were gone.’
‘So you left her alone,’ I barked. ‘This good girl who was such an old friend of yours, knowing that she had to find her way through crowds of raucous revellers and walk halfway to the Pincian?’
‘She wanted to,’ the girl insisted. ‘Asinia was like that. She would do anything for anyone. She saw I was set up, so she got out of the way.’
‘Did she help you chat up your fellow?’ asked Petro.
‘No.’
‘Was she used to talking to men?’
‘No. She was useless.’
‘But pretty?’
‘Oh yes! She drew the looks. She never noticed them looking, though.’
‘Was she too trusting?’
‘She knew enough.’
‘Apparently not!’ Petro rasped angrily. He made a disgusted movement and handed the interrogation back to me.
‘Who was the man you met, Pia?’
‘How should I know? He could have been from anywhere. I’d never seen him before. He was drunk, and he didn’t have any money. I’m stupid that way. If I meet him again I’ll have his balls.’
‘Young love, eh? I’m a sucker for a sentimental story. Would you know him?’
‘No.’
‘Sure of it?’
‘I’d had plenty of wine myself. Believe me, he wasn’t worth remembering.’
‘So where exactly was the last place you saw Asinia?’
‘At the Circus Max.’
‘Where? Which exit did you use?’
Pia threw back her shoulders and addressed me distinctly as if I was deaf. ‘I last saw Asinia by the Temple of the Sun and Moon.’ That was clear enough. Then she spoilt it with a rethink. ‘Tell a lie – she was walking down the Street of the Three Altars.’
The Street of the Three Altars runs from the apsidal end of the Circus, near the Temple of Sol and Luna which Pia had mentioned, up to the Clivus Scaurus. The Clivus Scaurus goes past the Temple of the Divine Claudius as far as the ancient Arch of Dolabella, now used as a reservoir for the Aqua Claudia. That was where Asinia’s hand had been found.
I wondered if it was significant, or just some terrible poignant coincidence, that the missing woman was last seen so near where
her dismembered hand later ended up. How far had she travelled in between? I wondered drearily if we would ever know.
I gazed at Pia sourly. ‘So Asinia turned off on her long trek northwards and you came here. How many people were in the Street of the Three Altars?’
‘Hundreds, of course. It was turning out time . . . Well, quite a lot.’
‘No litters, you said? Any other vehicles?’
‘Only private stuff.’
‘Stuff?’
‘You know – loads of big bollocks in their sharp carriages. It was well after curfew.’
‘How many carriages?’
‘Oh, hardly any.’ Self-contradiction was her speciality. ‘It’s the wrong end. The nobs like to be picked up at the starting gate or near the Imperial box. You know.’
‘Afraid we don’t,’ Petro commented. ‘The apsidal end of the Circus, after curfew, is far too rough for us.’
Pia gave him a withering look. It took more than the screwed-up face of a painted girl to diminish Petronius.
‘Did you see Asinia speak to anyone?’ I asked.
‘No I didn’t. Asinia wouldn’t.’
‘Anyone try to speak to her?’
‘I just told you!’
‘Somebody could have catcalled. It doesn’t mean she answered them.’
‘No,’ said Pia.
‘You’re not being much help.’ Petro decided it was time to be openly rude to her. ‘What happened to her could have happened to you. It still could.’
‘No chance. I’m not going to the Games again.’
‘That’s wise. But will you come with us one evening, about the time you left with Asinia, and see if we can spot anyone you recognise?’
‘I’m not going near the place again.’
‘Not even to help find your friend’s killer?’
‘It won’t do any good.’
‘How can you be certain?’
‘I’ve lived in the world.’
Petro looked at me. If we let ourselves be as pessimistic as this cheap piece, we would give up. Perhaps we would never have started. Perhaps we never should have done – but we were in it now. Without his saying anything I guessed he intended to have Pia interviewed again by the vigiles in the hope they could put the frighteners on her. Cyclops Street where she lived must be in the First or Second districts; I wasn’t sure offhand, but the boundary ran somewhere near the Porta Metrovia at the end of the street: all this territory belonged to the Fifth Cohort. If they hadn’t heard that Petro had been suspended by Rubella he could probably get away with making the request ‘officially’.
Three Hands in the Fountain Page 16