Justinus bade me farewell with a crisp military salute; it was a reminder of our time in Germany, and meant to let me know he was now taking care. Aelianus must have been in the army too, though I had no idea which province he had served in. Knowing him, some place where the hunting was good and the locals had forgotten how to revolt. If his younger brother seemed more mature and responsible in a tricky situation, that was because Justinus had been taught how to survive in barbarian territory – and taught by me. I would have passed on techniques for handling women too, but at the time he had not seemed to need it. I was not sure he needed any teaching nowadays.
Grimly I returned to my post at the Temple of Sol and Luna. I felt shaken. There were enough young people out looking for trouble without ones I knew worrying me.
The next woman I saw being ridiculous was another one I recognised: Pia, the dead Asinia’s friend. The hussy in turquoise who had assured Petro and me she would not go anywhere near the Circus again after what had happened to Asinia. It was no surprise that this trembling blossom had emerged from the stadium tonight, having clearly attended the Games just the same as usual. What was more she had a man in tow.
I strode up to her. She was annoyed at seeing me. I was annoyed too, that she had lied to us and that she so blatantly lacked any loyalty to her murdered friend. But it did give me a faint hope of exposing her lies.
The fellow with sickly taste who was crawling over Pia was a greasy tyke with patches on his clothing and a yellowing black eye. He was playing the part of an old friend, so maybe Pia herself had whacked him with the shiner. She, however, was trying to make out to me that she hardly knew this dreamboat.
I weighed straight in. ‘Is this the weasel you were screwing the night you parted from Asinia?’
She wanted to deny it, but he failed to notice she was trying to disown him so he owned up straight away. Pia had clearly picked him for his intelligence. Don’t ask me why he went for her.
They must already have discussed the night in question. Clearly he knew all about Asinia’s grim fate, and I guessed he knew even more than that.
‘What’s your name, friend?’
‘I’d rather not say.’
‘That’s all right.’ Sometimes it pays to allow them their secrecy. I wanted to know what he had seen, never mind who he was. ‘Did you hear the bad news about poor Asinia?’
‘Terrible!’
‘I’d be interested in your side of the story. Pia said you both left her about here – but you saw her again in the Street of the Three Altars?’
‘Yes, we must of caught up with her. She didn’t see us.’
‘Was she all right at that point?’
He glanced at Pia. ‘Didn’t you tell him about that fellow, then?’
‘Oh,’ lied Pia, utterly shamelessly. ‘I think I must have forgot.’
‘What fellow was this then?’ I wished Petro was here with me. Less scrupulous than I was, he would have dragged her arm up her back in a vigiles’ bodyhold, while encouraging free speech with his spare fist around her throat.
‘Oh,’ mouthed Pia, as if it was unimportant and anyway she had only just remembered it. ‘I think we saw some man talking to Asinia.’
XXXVIII
I WAS SO furious I could cheerfully have thrown both of them to the public torturer and had them scarified with hooks. I think Pia realised the atmosphere was stickier than she liked. Even now she had no intention of telling me herself, but when her lousy bed companion coughed up freely she scowled and let him speak. Whatever she did to him afterwards would be between the two of them.
‘We saw this fellow,’ he told me, with a helpful demeanour. I would have admired him more for it if I had not suspected Pia had told him to keep his mouth shut. I was livid. He had held on to this vital information for over a week, even though he knew it could help catch a pervert and save other women’s lives.
‘You say you saw this fellow?’
‘He was talking to Asinia’
‘Harrying her?’
‘No, it looked all right. We noticed because Asinia never had anything to do with men. But he seemed cheery enough. We would of gone up to them otherwise, of course.’
‘Of course.’ The way he was winding himself around Pia even now suggested this charmer did not readily abandon a grope. ‘So what happened?’
‘She answered him and he went off.’
‘Is that it?’
‘That’s all, legate.’
‘You’re sure you saw Asinia walk on by herself?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘What was the man like?’
‘Nothing much. We only saw him from behind.’
‘Tall?’
‘No, short.’
‘Build?’
‘Ordinary.’
‘Age?’
‘Couldn’t say.’
‘A youth or older?’
‘Older. Probably.’
‘Much older?’
‘Probably not.’
‘Any national characteristics?’
‘What?’
‘Did he look Roman?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Forget it. Hair?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Hat?’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘What was he wearing?’
‘Tunic and belt.’
‘What colour tunic?’
‘Nothing particular.’
‘White?’
‘Could have been.’
‘Nothing you noticed?’
‘No, legate.’
‘Boots or shoes?’
‘Couldn’t say, legate.’
‘Couldn’t care less either, eh?’
‘We just never noticed him much. He was ordinary.’
‘So ordinary he may be a bestial killer. Why did neither of you come forward with this information before?’
‘I never thought it was important,’ the man assured me earnestly. Pia made no attempt to bluff. I understood her problem; she was frightened that Caius Cicurrus would blame her for letting his wife get into trouble while she herself was preoccupied with bedding this worm.
‘Right. I want you to come with me to the Street of the Three Altars and point out exactly where this exchange with Asinia took place.’
‘We’ve got things in mind!’ protested the greaseball. Pia,still pretending she hardly knew him, just looked surly.
‘That’s all right,’ I replied in a pleasant tone. ‘I’ve got something in mind too: I’m planning to haul you both in front of a judge tonight on charges of obstructing a consular enquiry, perverting justice, and putting free citizens in danger of abduction, disfigurement and death.’
‘Oh well; make it quick then,’ muttered Pia’s friend. She said nothing, but she dawdled along with us, just in case he said something she wanted to hit him for afterwards.
The rancid pair stood at the junction of the Street of the Public Fishpond, at the far end, after we had passed by the Circus Maximus. To the left a roadway ran along the north side of the Circus towards the Forum Boarium and the river. To the right was the incoming Via Latina. Ahead of us, across the junction, the road we had come on changed its name. A left-hand fork went to the Forum, coming out opposite the Colossus and the new Flavian Amphitheatre site. The right-hand fork was the Street of the Three Altars.
‘So when you got here, you two were going hard right down the Via Latina, to pass the end of the Street of Honour and Virtue, and then wend your way into Cyclops Street?’ They nodded. Not knowing that my brother’s girlfriend lived in the Street of Honour and Virtue they seemed subdued by the extent of my local knowledge. ‘Then up ahead of you was Asinia?’
The man nodded again. ‘She must have just walked into the Street of the Three Altars.’
‘Wouldn’t it have been quicker for her to go the other way?’
‘She didn’t like going through the Forum on her own,’ volunteered Pia.
‘Jupiter! She preferred a route tha
t was quieter, so that if she got picked up by a pervert no one would hear her scream?’
‘Asinia was shy.’
‘You mean, she was scared stiff of being out alone, and you knew it!’ The worldly Pia should also have known that a nervous woman alone on the streets is begging to be noticed by the kind of man who for all the wrong reasons likes his women terrified. From the moment the two friends parted, Asinia would have been a target for harassment. Perhaps she had discovered it on previous occasions. Perhaps that was why she liked to scuttle along away from the crowds.
‘How many people were about that night?’
‘Not many. A bit more than now.’
‘The shows had finished? Most people had gone home?’
‘Unless they had things to do.’ Pia’s swain giggled and groped her, in anticipation of a sweaty coupling. I ignored it.
I had not noticed Petro but he must have spotted us, for suddenly he materialised and listened in. I introduced Pia’s lovelife, as best I could.
‘Oh, I know him,’ Petronius sneered. ‘His name’s Mundus.’ He did not mention what Mundus had done to attract notice from the vigiles. His expression gave me a few clues, though.
I told Petro the tale. He went over it all again with Mundus, then tried the same with Pia. She still clammed up, but we had the impression it was now bad temper rather than deceit.
‘What I don’t see is why you broke up with Asinia by the Temple of Sol and Luna, yet you were following her again by the time she reached here?’
‘At first we were going into the Temple for a smooch,’ explained Mundus, as if it ought to be obvious. ‘We thought we would have a quick fiddle around at the Temple, then buy some food and take it to Pia’s house before we really got stuck in. But when we got up the steps the portico was full of old men screwing pretty boys, so we missed out the first part.’
Petronius winced with disgust.
It seemed there was probably no more useful information to squeeze from this sordid pair. We were ready to let them go. ‘Just one more thing,’ I said sternly, attempting to grab Mundus’ attention before he lost himself completely inside Pia’s grubby garments. ‘Are you absolutely certain that the man you saw accosting Asinia was on foot?’
‘Yes, legate.’
‘No litter?’ demanded Petro. ‘No carriage? No cart in sight?’
‘He told you.’ Pia wanted to be shot of us now. ‘There was nothing.’
If she was right there could be various explanations. The encounter they saw may have had nothing at all to do with Asinia’s later abduction. Or maybe the killer harassed the girl then pretended to leave her, but followed – unnoticed by Pia and Mundus – to grab her when she was alone and get her to his transport later. Or else he made initial contact – had a look at her, decided if she met his requirements – then went off for transport he was keeping nearby, and trapped her in a quieter street. If the first conversation was amiable, it might make the girl an easier target the second time he caught up with her.
‘It was him,’ I decided.
‘Most likely,’ Petro agreed.
We told the dewy-eyed lovers to go. They vanished down the Via Latina, Mundus slobbering all over Pia while she coarsely insulted him.
‘She still wants to lie to us – on principle.’ It was my turn to announce the verdict. ‘If she could get away with it she would. But the radish is telling the truth.’
‘Oh, he’s a darling,’ Petronius agreed glumly. ‘Pure and true. And his lack of remorse for Asinia is almost as heart-warming as Pia’s. Where would we be without such upright citizens to assist our work?’
The crowds had mainly dispersed by now. Only dawdlers who would be out carousing until they fell down in the gutters were still here. Petro was intending to stay out all night on surveillance. My stamina was up to it, but my liking for the task had spoiled. I said I would walk the route Asinia might have taken, then work back for a look along the river before going home. Since I had a woman and child waiting for me, Petro accepted that. He did not need his hand held. He had always been a loner when it came to work. So had I. Maybe this was the best way for us to continue our partnership.
I went all the way to Caius Cicurrus’ house. I saw nothing unusual. The house was shuttered and in darkness. Cypress trees framed the doorway as a sign of mourning. I wondered how long they would have to be kept there before Cicurrus was able to hold a funeral.
I strolled back towards the Forum by a slightly different route. I still saw nothing, except cat burglars and the kind of pavement-creeping women who had men waiting up alleys to rob their hapless clients. I considered asking if they had ever noticed a handsome black woman being snatched off the street. But approaching them was asking to get my head cracked open. I know when to chicken out.
I hit the Forum just north of the Temple of Venus and Rome. I started walking down the Sacred Way, keeping my ears and eyes peeled, like a prowling animal watching every shadow for movement. I kept to the centre of the road, treading the uneven old slabs as quietly as possible.
By the Temple of Vesta a girl was bent double being noisily sick. Another woman was holding on to her. As I approached warily a casual vehicle clattered from a side-street: unladen and no passenger, a one-horse country trap. The wench who was more or less upright called out brazenly to the driver. He ducked his head, apparently terrified of being hassled, and hurried on the horse, quickly turning away from the Forum again somewhere up by the Basilica Julia.
I sighed gently. Then, although it would normally have been against my principles to go anywhere near such a couple of tipsy witches, I strode straight across to them. The one who had called out was Marina, the mother of my little niece Marcia. I had recognised her voice.
XXXIX
THERE WERE PROBABLY more people here with us than we realised, but they were lurking around the Regia, flitting among temple columns, or hovering in the deep shadow under the Arch of Augustus. Nobody I could actually see was within earshot. Just as well. The tall girl flopping over Marina’s left arm had just been sick against the stately Corinthian columns of the Temple of Vesta. This was supposed to resemble an ancient hut built of wood and straw though the mock antique construction appeared pretty crisp. It was less than a decade old, having been burnt down in Nero’s great fire then hastily rebuilt ‘to ensure the continued existence of Rome’. Marina’s friend was making a stout job of imparting a more weathered look to the new colonnade.
The girl being ill with such gusto was also very thin, like a long puppet who had lost her stuffing, hooked around the waist by Marina. Marina herself only came halfway up my chest even when she was upright – a feat she achieved rather unsteadily at the moment. I was accosting a seriously disgraceful pair of women, and I felt ten years too old for it.
‘Hello, Marcus. Something for the sacred housekeepers to clean up!’
Marina may have lacked stature but what there was of her had a well-packed allure that turned heads at all levels. She was dressed to show it off, and gorgeously painted. With her free right hand she made a mannered obscene gesture. ‘Bitches!’ she yelled at the House of the Vestals, rather more loudly than was wise when addressing the guardians of the Sacred Flame. Her friend threw up again. ‘Stuff that up your Palladium!’ Marina growled at the hallowed hut.
‘Now look here,’ I began weakly. ‘What’s happening to –’
‘Marcia’s at home, idiot. She’s safely tucked up in her own little bed, and my neighbour’s daughter’s looking after her. Clean, sensible girl, thirteen years old, not interested in boys yet, thank the gods – Anything else your nosiness wants to know?’
‘Have you been at the Games?’
‘Certainly not. Too full of low characters. Is that where you’ve been, Falco?’ The gorgeous vision cackled with abominable laughter.
A lamp stood on the ground, placed there while Marina attended to her companion. By its wavering light I could see my brother’s exotic girlfriend: translucent skin, breathtakingly regular
features, and the remote beauty of a temple statue. Only when she spoke did the mystique fade; she had the voice of a winkle-seller. Even then, she had just to roll those huge eyes a few times and I remembered all too clearly the jealous throb that used to drive me wild when Festus was bedding her. Then Festus died and I had to pay Marina’s bills. That helped keep me chaste.
‘If you weren’t at the Games, what coven have you witches been casting spells at?’
‘We ladies,’ Marina enunciated pompously, although she did seem a great deal more sober than whoever was vomiting against the Temple, ‘have been at the monthly reunion of the Braidmakers’ Old Girls.’
There had once been a rumour that Marina worked in the field of tunic decoration, though she was doing her best to disprove it. The only thing she reckoned to twist nowadays was me. ‘Isn’t this late to be leaving a party, girl?’
‘No, it’s quite early for the Braidmakers.’ She let out a disreputable giggle. An answering hiccup came faintly from the bent beanpole.
‘Dawn daisies, eh? I suppose when you finished disporting yourself among the pensioned-off tassel-knotters, you came home by way of a tipple at the Four Fish?’
‘As I recollect, it was the Old Grey Dove, Marcus Didius.’
‘And the Oystershell?’
‘Then probably the Venus of Cos. It was bloody Venus who did for this one –’
Marina applied more tender nurture to her friend – an act which consisted of jerking her upright and forcing her head back with a dangerous click of the neck. ‘Well, keep your voice lower,’ I muttered. ‘You’ll have the Vestals scampering out here in their nightclothes to investigate.’
‘Forget it! They’re too busy screwing the Pontifex Maximus around the sacred hearth.’
If I was to be hauled before a judge on a treason trial, I would rather choose the infamy for myself. It seemed high time to leave. ‘Can you get home all right?’
Three Hands in the Fountain Page 20