The Accusers

by Lindsey Davis

  LVIII

  I WAS RECONCILED to never knowing what happened to our client. Since we never defended him, because his trial was aborted, we could not even send a bill. I know, I know. Only a hard-hearted bastard - or an informer - would have thought of it. Still, I too had informers waiting for a payment. Unfortunately, my debt was a large one.

  Spring was beginning to waft advance notice of its presence. Light breezes rustled the desiccated leaves that collected in the corners and crannies of fine buildings in the Forum of the Romans. Occasional shafts of sunlight reminded even hard-baked cynics that ours was a city of light, warmth and colour, any of which could reappear slyly any day now to disconcert us. The inconveniences of spring floods and flower festivals were waiting to make the streets impassable. The swollen Tiber oozed with murky silt. Birds were getting excited. Even I was, sometimes. And one fine, rather bright morning, when I thought the keen edge of their enmity might have mellowed, I took myself to the Porticus of Gaius and Lucius, to share a cup of cinnamon wine and a honey cake with two acquaintances.

  Silius Italicus had lost a few pounds; Paccius Africanus looked a little greyer. I myself felt lean and sour, but that was old news. I was tough; we all acknowledged, they were tougher. Sitting at ease with morning refreshments on a napkin-laid tray and with their togas bunched over their shoulders ready for that day in court, they just hid their ruthlessness better than I did.

  We exchanged courtesies. I asked after Honorius; he was at his ex-wife's wedding. He had expected she would return to him, but she dumped him and chose someone else. They said he had grown bitter. I said, I was glad he was learning. If the remark carried an undertone we all pretended otherwise.

  I told them about Bratta. I had heard he was to be sent to the arena, for murdering Spindex. They were surprised, since they were unaware there had been a trial. I was able to tell them that sometimes the vigiles were so efficient with hardened criminals that killers were processed and condemned in the murders court before anybody noticed; the discretion was to prevent the populace becoming fearful that society was dangerous. Paccius asked why Bratta had not gone to the lions yet, and I explained that the vigiles were confident they could screw more confessions out of him. He had been told that if he coughed up enough information, he would be spared the wild beasts. Of course that was untrue. Murder is always punished, I said.

  Which reminded me: I wondered whether Silius and Paccius had any plans to set their sights on Licinius Lutea? Silius told a funny story about Lutea recently buying (on credit) a highly expensive gourmet cook called Genius, whom those with inside knowledge believed to be a complete fraud. They cautiously admitted Lutea was a long-term prospect for them. His first wife had told them he was a real chancer; they were waiting to see what he chanced next. One way or another, he remained in their pending scroll box.

  I told them that I did admire how they set up cases in advance, even if they had to wait years for a resolution. The informers smiled, hiding any indication that they knew what I was hinting.

  'Do you ever see anything of Procreus?' I asked Silius.

  Silius looked vague for a moment, then he pretended to remember who Procreus was and said, no; he had not had occasion to use him for a long time.

  'That's sensible,' I murmured. 'There was a very disappointing outcome when he aimed that impiety charge for you, wasn't there?'

  Paccius drank from his wine beaker, dainty as a bird. Silius flicked a cake crumb off his tunic.

  I smiled gently. 'I had a narrow escape. I am grateful it was recognised that it was a fabricated charge. Of course damage has been done to me. Rumour ran rife. People were shocked...'

  'What do you want, Falco?' asked Paccius wearily.

  It was my turn to take my cup and enjoy a moment savouring the warm brew. 'My reputation suffered. Others, innocents all, have been stigmatised. My wife, who is a senator's daughter. My associates, her brothers, who hold the same noble rank. My little daughters, taunted as the children of an impious man. The slur does not die easily. My wife wants me to make an issue - sue for slander.'

  'How much?' enquired Silius. He was blunt, though not unpleasant about it. I was dealing with decent businessmen. Paccius, pretending to be bored, knew it was Silius' sidekick who laid the charge, which he may have thought absolved him.

  'Well, listen: I suggest we keep it neat. Save us troubling our bankers and paying their damn charges. How about the figure you were awarded in the Calpurnia Cara case? You pay me the same and it all negates nicely.'

  'This is for you, dear colleague,' Silius observed, turning to Paccius. Neither of them quibbled about me assuming they had always worked in tandem, I noticed.

  'Half a million? Falco, you're not worth the same as a senator's wife.' Paccius was calm, despite the amount involved.

  'But you two are,' I answered. I was calm too. I had nothing to lose except my temper, and there was no point in that.

  'Have I missed something?' asked Silius, paying more attention. My demand was outrageous, so why was I making it?

  'I was fortunate in that impiety issue,' I explained frankly. 'I had imperial support; I don't know if you realised. Titus got involved. That was why the praetor barred the case.' I saw the two men glance at each other. 'My honour at the Temple of Juno was an imperial gift; casting doubt on my suitability was a thrust at Vespasian, you know... I thought it best to warn you,' I said, in a genial tone.

  I sat back and sipped my spiced wine, allowing them time to adjust their thoughts.

  'If I insist on a public hearing to clear my name,' I pointed out, 'with Titus Caesar backing me, your reputations will be shredded. You may be hoping for further advancement in the cursus honorum - surely two ex-consuls must be hoping for governorships? I know you won't want Titus screwing up your postings with a veto... Half a million is a small sacrifice to secure your next honours, don't you think?'

  After a long silence, the sacrifice was made.

  I ate my cake, then walked away from them across the Forum. I hid a smile. I knew that Titus Caesar had told the senator he would intervene with the praetor only on condition that the charge died, with no repercussions. Titus would never have backed me publicly. Still, Silius and Paccius must both be aware that sometimes in legal bargaining it is necessary to bluff.

  My post as Procurator of the Sacred Geese was abolished shortly after all this, in a round of Treasury cutbacks. I was disappointed. The salary had been useful; losing it curtailed Helena's plans to build an out door dining room with a shell-lined nymphaeum and miniature canals.

  Besides, the Sacred Geese of Juno and the Augurs' Chickens were good layers. When I was looking after them, I used to enjoy my omelettes.

  I had begun this enterprise disenchanted - and had all my prejudice confirmed. I would wait in vain to see the grizzled old legals come good despite their cynicism. It was equally futile to hope that their idealistic apprentice, Honorius, would stay clean. I had escaped harm, more or less. Perhaps in some circles I had even increased my reputation.

  Nobody was ever convicted of the murder of Rubirius Metellus, but nobody was wrongly condemned either. Saffia was dead, so she was beyond the courts. If Licinius Lutea escaped temporarily, he had become a target for the most patient of predators. So perhaps despite the efforts and machinations of my prosecuting colleagues, justice would one day be done.

  The state had its own perspective. The following year, Ti Catius Silius Italicus was awarded a powerful post as proconsul of the province of Asia, while C. Paccius Africanus became proconsul of Africa. These were the Empire's chief prizes - honourable governorships where unscrupulous men could, by applying the right kind of diligence, acquire enormous wealth.

  But that would be only greedy and corrupt proconsuls, of course.

  OTHER PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS

  M. Didius Falco: a principled informer (who needs the money)

  Helena Justina: the guardian of his ethics

  Julia Junilla and Sosia Favonia: their children (nev
er ill; never naughty; never loud)

  Albia: a British visitor, who has seen nothing yet

  Nux: a dog, who owns Falco

  The Sacred Geese of Juno |

  and The Augurs' Sacred Chickens | religious poultry's free range omelette producers

  Ma: a mother shamed by impiety

  Verontius: Falco's brother-in-law, as straight as a Roman road

  D. Camillus Verus: Helena's father, a senator with memories

  Julia Justa: her mother, a matron with connections

  A. Camillus Aelianus |

  and Q. Camillus Justinus | Falco's Associates, on a long learning curve

  Ursulina Prisca: a valued client; very litigious

  L. Petronius Longus: Falco's friend in the vigiles, a useful contact

  Anacrites: Falco's enemy, a useless spook

  Glaucus: Falco's trainer, who has seen it all

  Ti Catius Silius Italicus: a high class lawyer (with a dubious past)

  C. Paccius Africanus: a trusts expert (with a shady reputation)

  Honorius: a legal idealist (heading for disillusion?)

  Marponius: a judge with encyclopaedic knowledge

  Bratta: an informer's informer

  Procreus: an accuser's accuser

  Euphanes: a sickly herbalist

  Rhoemetalces: an apothecary who takes his own medicine.

  Claudius Tiasus: a funeral director with a chipped nymph

  Biltis: a professional mourner, taking an interest

  Spindex: a funeral clown; not laughing much

  Olympia: a fortune teller; therapist to the nobility

  Scorpus: aka 'Old Fungibles'; a wills expert

  Scythax: the vigiles doctor, prescribing caution

  Aufustius: a banker with profligate clients

  Euboule: a wetnurse who fosters doubts

  Zeuko: her daughter, keeping it in the family

  Perseus: a door porter who knows too much

  Celadus: a steward who knows what the last meal was

  Julius Alexander: a loyal land agent who knows where the loot is

  The End