‘I’ve been looking for you –’ I said.
‘Oooh!’ Marina’s escort set up a round of mock-shocked twittering. I groaned.
‘You dirty dog!’
‘Settle down; this is business –’
‘Ooh-hoo!’ They were off again.
‘Rome’s finest,’ I commented. ‘As highly commendable as Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi!’
‘Oh, don’t go on –’ Marina had a short attention span, even for making life a misery for a man. ‘What do you want, Falco?’
‘A question. That night we met in the Forum –’
‘When that weird girl threw up over the Vestals?’
‘I thought she was a friend of yours?’
‘Never met her before. Never seen her since. No idea who she was. She was feeling a bit demoralised so I thought I ought to see her home.’ Ah well. Clearly the Braidmakers were a loving sisterhood.
‘Well, never mind her – it’s not the girl I’m curious about. Who was the man in the carriage that went by, the man you were shouting at?’
‘What carriage?’ asked Marina, totally unaware she had done anything of the sort. Her current friends reduced their bad behaviour to shuffling about impatiently. Bored with me, they were already looking around for somebody different to tyrannise. ‘I never shout at men in the Forum; don’t insult me, Marcus Didius.’
I described how the vehicle had appeared out of the darkness, and how I had overheard what sounded like a ribald exchange with somebody Marina thought she knew.
Marina thought about it.
I stood quietly, allowing her to pilot her thoughts woozily around the very small piece of human tissue that served her as a brain. I had learned from experience that this process could take time. I also knew it would probably not be worth it, but I was the kind of dumb professional who always had to try.
‘What do you mean by a carriage?’ she demanded.
‘Things on wheels; horse in front; person or persons can travel long distances in huge discomfort at unbearable expense –’
‘Gods, you do like to mess around, Marcus! I must have thought it was the one I see sometimes.’
‘Don’t you remember? Are you guessing now?’
‘Oh, I’m sure I will remember if I think about it long enough – to tell you the truth, I was somewhat incapable of noticing much that night.’
‘Well, that’s frank.’
Marina was still slowly pondering. A neat frown creased her alabaster forehead; some men might have wanted to smooth away the creases, but I was on the verge of imprinting them there with a clenched fist. ‘It can’t have been him, or he would have stopped; we have a chat if I pass him.’
‘Who are we talking about?’
‘A fellow who parks in our street. We all have a great laugh over it. You’ll love this. He brings his master to visit – respectable people, very prim family – but what they don’t know is: the night before he arrives looking pious at their house, the master drops off to visit some old girl. She used to be a professional, and he’s her last loyal client. He looks about a hundred; heaven knows what they can get up to. We never see her; she can hardly totter to the window to wave him off next day.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘The master or the driver? Don’t ask me. I don’t inspect people’s birth certificates just to pass the time of day.’
‘Where do they come from? Is it outside Rome? Could it be somewhere like Tibur?’
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ murmured Marina. ‘You said it was a carriage, but it’s not what I would call one. I’m talking about one of those sit-up-and-suffer carts like a box on two big wheels.’
‘No covering, but they nip along? Get away! The old fellow can’t sit up on front?’
‘Oh, he clings on manfully.’
‘Have they been in your street this week?’
‘I haven’t noticed.’ Marina had a slightly shifty look; I guessed she wanted to avoid telling me she had been out a lot, dumping Marcia somewhere else. There was no point in trying to pursue that.
‘This driver isn’t a small red-haired man with a limp?’
‘Oh, gods, where do you think them up? No; he’s a man, so he’s ugly – but ordinary.’ Once again I reluctantly acknowledged that this was not our convenient suspect Damon.
‘Does he flirt?’
‘How would I know?’ scoffed Marina, drawing herself up indignantly. ‘What’s this about?’
I spoke gently: ‘Oh, I just wondered if the vehicle we saw in the Forum belonged to the man who must have been there that night throwing the head of a murdered woman down the Cloaca Maxima.’
She went pale. Her fluttery friends grew still. ‘You’re trying to frighten me.’
‘Yes, I am. All of you, take care tonight. Marina, if you see this sit-up-and-suffer cart, try to find me or Petronius.’
‘Is it him? The bastard you’re looking for?’
‘It doesn’t sound quite right, but I need to check. If it’s not him, the real bastard is still likely to be out and about.’
I told her I would be coming to see her tomorrow and would want her to point out the house of the ancient prostitute, who would have to be interviewed. So much for the Street of Honour and Virtue. As usual, it was living up flagrantly to its charming name.
I stayed at the Temple until nearly dawn. I saw nothing relevant.
What Marina had said was niggling me. While I waited far longer than usual for Petro, I realised I badly wanted to consult with him. He must be clinging on until the very last minute, reluctant to admit we had wasted another night.
I walked down the temple steps, taking care not to step on any cracks in case I alerted the pavement bears. I began to pace round the Circus in search of Petro. If he was there, I never found him. Instead, by the now closed grand exit gate under its arch in the centre of the apse, I saw something that caught my attention. Torches. They were bright, and apparently newly lit, whereas the few lamps left in the streets had all faded to a dim flicker.
I had run into a group of slaves, led by a young man in patrician whites whom I recognised immediately. From his anxious behaviour I knew before I even called his name that he was in some kind of trouble.
‘Aelianus!’
Helena’s least favourite brother had been rushing to and fro outside the Circus gate. When he saw me, pride made him slow and straighten up. ‘Falco!’ It came out with too much urgency. He knew that I knew he was desperate. ‘Marcus Didius – perhaps you can help me.’
‘What’s wrong?’ I had a bad feeling.
‘Nothing, I hope – but I seem to have lost Claudia.’
The feeling was correct then: and a nightmare had begun.
LVIII
‘HOW LONG HAS she been missing?’
‘Oh, gods! Hours!’
‘Hours?’
‘Since this evening –’
I gave the dawn sky a meaningful glance. ‘Last night.’
‘You don’t have to tell me! This is terrible – and we’re expecting her grandparents any day now –’
He pulled himself up, shaking his head at himself for clinging to such trivialities. I had wanted to see Aelianus in misery, but not like this. He was arrogant, crass and snobbish, and had hurt Helena very much by criticising us. Now he stood in the street, a hot, bothered, stocky young figure trying to bluff it out. I knew, and he must appreciate, that he was staring at a tragedy.
‘Keep calm.’ Relief at having somebody to share his grief nearly made him useless. I gripped his shoulders to stop him panicking. The smart white cloth of his handsomely napped tunic was soaked with sweat.
‘Claudia wanted to go to the Games and I didn’t. I dropped her off –’
‘By herself? I’m no social prude, but she’s a young girl, and a stranger to Rome!’
‘Justinus used to go with her, but –’ Justinus had gone abroad. This was not the time to ask his brother why.
‘So you left her. Do your parents know tha
t?’
‘They know now! When I came to pick her up as we had arranged, Claudia failed to meet me. Then I made a lot of mistakes.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I looked everywhere. I was annoyed with her at first – I nearly went off in disgust for a drink –’ I said nothing. ‘I assumed she was tired of waiting. Claudia does not have a high opinion of my organising powers.’ It sounded as though there might be more to this than a lovers’ tiff. ‘I thought she must have given up on me and walked home.’
I bit back an angry exclamation of Alone?
It was not far. Up to the start of the Street of the Three Altars, and turn right down the Via Appia. You could see the Capena Gate from the first crossroads, behind the Aqua Appia and Aqua Claudia. To reach the Camillus house would take only a few minutes for Aelianus, frantically hurrying, and not much longer even for Claudia. She would know the way. She would feel safe.
‘So you rushed back home?’
‘No luck.’
‘Did you confess to your father?’
‘Another mistake! I was ashamed. I tried to put things right myself – I quietly grabbed all the slaves I could find and came back to search. It was no good, of course. I went into the Circus but everyone near her seat had left. Of course the aediles in charge just laughed at me. I went home; told Papa; he is informing the vigiles while I keep searching –’
‘You’re too late.’ There was nothing to gain by sparing him the truth. Claudia Rufina was a sensible, thoughtful girl. Far too considerate to be merely playing up. ‘Aulus –’ I rarely called him by his private name. ‘This is very serious.’
‘I understand.’ No excuses. No wild self-reproach either, though I could see he blamed himself. Well, I knew how that felt. ‘Will you help me, Falco?’
I shrugged. This was my job. The Camilli were in part my family anyway.
‘You don’t know the worst.’ Aelianus was gritting his teeth to confess. ‘Earlier I spoke to an itinerant food-seller. The man said he had seen a girl who matched my description of Claudia waiting alone by the gate. A little while later she was talking to the driver of a vehicle – a cart, he said, but he was unsure exactly. He thought she got in, then she was driven off at speed.’
‘Which direction?’
He had no idea, of course. Nor had he demanded a description of whoever was driving her. And the food-seller was long gone.
We sent the slaves home.
I walked Aelianus briskly to the Street of the Three Altars. That was when I found a member of the vigiles on Petro’s usual spot, and he told me Petronius had gone off somewhere.
‘Where in Hades is he?’
‘Following a suspect, sir.’
‘What suspect?’
‘Ginger, with the bad leg.’
‘Here? Damon? He had a vigiles tail on him!’ Besides, we had all agreed: Damon was not our suspect.
‘Petro went along to share the job. He said things here had gone dead. He was following his nose.’
‘When was this?’
‘Way back. He ordered me to wait here, but everyone’s gone home now. I was just coming to tell you to give up expecting him.’
I swore under my breath. ‘Was Damon alone?’
‘Had a woman with him.’
‘Smart girl in a white dress, rather big nose?’
‘No. Filthy piece in a red skirt, showing her legs.’ He could have switched later. Girls who show their legs can often sense trouble. Red skirt might have ditched him. Claudia would have appeared a much easier target – but Damon could still be with the red skirt, while somebody else had Claudia. If so, we had no idea who.
‘Find where they got to. Find Petro. Tell him – no; first get a message to your commander: a respectable girl has been abducted this evening while we all stood around like bloody wall paintings. Whoever took her has transport. In case he hasn’t left the city yet, we need every vehicle that’s on the road tonight searched – and we need to start now. Concentrate in the eastern districts; he will be heading for Tibur.’
The stand-in watcher looked worried: ‘There won’t be much moving; most vehicles have been and gone.’
‘Oh, I know that!’
I grabbed Aelianus. He was white-faced, his straight hair flopping anyhow, his heart about to burst.
‘Aulus, I’ll do all I can. If she’s still alive, I’ll get her back for you. But I can’t promise anything, so prepare yourself.’
He took it well. ‘What shall I do?’
I scrutinised him briefly. He had controlled his panic. He was one of a bright family. I didn’t like him, but I could trust his tenacity. ‘I need an arrest warrant, but we don’t yet know a name. Do your best for me. The man who arranged everything is the ex-Consul Frontinus; he knows your father. The magistrate who has to issue the document is called Marponius.’ Quickly I gave him addresses for both. ‘They don’t look like stop-outs, so you ought to be able to find them. Get Marponius to issue the chit for “the abductor of Claudia Rufina”. That should be specific enough. Rush it to the Praetorian Camp. The Urban Cohorts can then ride after this villain if he has left Rome.’
‘What about you, Falco?’
‘I’ll go straight to the camp now and try to persuade them to mount up. If I can’t shift them without the warrant, I’ll go ahead alone.’
‘I’ll come with you –’
‘No! I need you to organise some back-up for me, Aulus!’ I could not take him, knowing what I might eventually find. For a lad of twenty-three to lose his future wife like this would be terrible enough. He must be spared seeing what was done to her. ‘The warrant is vital. Then you can do something else for me: Helena will be expecting me home. She’ll grow frantic if I don’t arrive. Please go and tell her what’s happening.’ Helena would understand that he must not be allowed to follow me.
He was her brother so he could take another message too: ‘Give her my love – and if you really want to be a hero, force yourself to kiss my child for me.’
Well, that should keep reluctant young Uncle Aulus occupied.
LIX
EVERYTHING WAS STILL against me.
As I set off, all the battered wine wagons and marble carts in Rome were struggling to leave the city before dawn. After the Games ended the private hire transport had taken off the audience and then dispersed. I had to walk. From the Circus to the Praetorian Camp is a damned long way.
By the Gardens of Maecenas I shoved a drunk off a donkey, commandeering it for the Empire. The drunk didn’t care. He was out of it. The donkey put up a fight, but I was in a hard mood. I kicked him into action and cajoled him the rest of the way to the Porta Tiburtina with a stick I found; there I fell off just as the vigiles were preparing to disperse.
‘Hold it! Urgent – have any private vehicles left this way tonight?’
‘Oh, shit, Falco. It’s been a heavy night; there’s been hundreds.’
‘Got the list?’
‘We thought we were finished; we’ve already sent it off to the Prefect.’
‘Help me out, lads – a big four-horse carriage, or a sit-up-and-beg?’
‘Could well have been, but don’t ask us!’
‘Jupiter – you’re a disgrace to public office! Is this why I paid my census tax?’
‘Give over – who coughs up the tax?’
‘Not enough people to pay for an efficient watch, apparently. Stop here. Don’t argue – the creep has snatched a young girl who was to marry a senator. We’ve got to find her. Search everything that comes this way and try to get word to the other city gates –’
I hauled my stolen donkey back into service. We went under the arcade of the Anio Vetus, then rode parallel to the huge triple mass of the Aqua Marcia, carrying both the Tepula and the Julia above it. Unplanned originally, the newer channels were not even centred; the arches had had to be reinforced, but even so the top cover of the Marcia was cracking due to the uneven distribution of weight . . . Thanks to Bolanus, I knew these details intimately. I al
so knew what might be floating down in their waters soon.
I forced the donkey to the Praetorian Camp. As always it was a bad experience. The camp itself is a monstrous spread in the shadow of the Servian Walls, mirrored by an even more gigantic parade ground that takes up most of the space between the Viminal and Colline gates; the troops inside are bastards to a man.
It was fairly quiet for once. So quiet I had the odd experience of hearing the beasts roaring in the Imperial menagerie just outside the city. From a clubroom nearby my ears were assailed by the distinctive noise of Guardsmen finishing off their routine fifteen flagons a night. The set of bullies on the gate must have been halfway there too, but they carried it well. The wine made them slow to respond to an emergency, but infused them with a certain wild flair once they got the hang of things. A kind soul patted my donkey, who responded by biting him. The burly Guardsman was so tough – or so tipsy – he never felt a thing.
The centurion of the Urbans who had been instructed to stay on alert to help us was a neat, mild soul who had turned in for an early night. Nice to think of the hard-baked and notorious city guardians having a quiet read in their tidy bunks then blowing out their lamps while the city rampaged, untroubled by their attentions. After an agonising wait, he turned up in a long Greek nightshirt just to tell me that without a judge’s warrant he was going back to bed. I advised him to check how much pension he had collected in the regimental savings bank, because for exile in further Armenia it might not be enough. He sniffed, and left.
In despair, I heard myself pouring out my troubles to the Praetorian duty watch. These big lads in shiny breastplates were a soft touch for a heartbreaking tale. Ever keen to put one over on the Urbans, whom they regarded as inferior barrack companions, they led me to the prepared horses, and wittily suggested that they should look the other way while I snuck off with one. I thanked them, pointed out that the horses were in fact mules, then chose the best.
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