Shadows in Bronze mdf-2

by Lindsey Davis

  Without more ado we drained our cups, dragged ourselves upright and started outside. I asked the bosun, 'You with us, Bassus?' But, deeply depressed by the loss of the sir, Bassus said he would stay in Positanum with the drink.

  He came with us to the door though. As we reeled in the sudden sunlight that glanced off the harbour, I heard him let out a chuckle ironically. 'That's fate for you!' Then he pointed southwards out to sea. 'Here they come…'

  Bearing slowly towards the Amalfi coast was the most amazing vessel I had ever seen. The Royal Barge of the Ptolemies was supposed to be larger, but I had never been privileged to gawk at the Egyptian fleet. This one was a monster. If her deck was less than two hundred feet in length, the shortfall could not be more than any lad on the Tiber waterfront could spit. When she docked she must tower above everything else like the multistorey apartments in Rome. Across the beam she was forty feet easily. And the depth of her hull, labouring so heavily, was probably even more than that.

  To power this immense bulk she had not merely the normal square sail but a fabulous arrangement of red topsails as well. Far behind her I could just make other dark smudges, apparently motionless on the horizon, though they too would be heading towards us, low in the water beneath their huge cargoes, at an inexorable pace.

  'Bassos! Whatever in Hades is that?'

  He squinted at her thoughtfully as she loomed imperceptibly nearer the rocky coast. Parthenope, probably… but could be Venus of Paphos-'

  I knew before he said it: the first of the corn ships had arrived.

  LXXIII

  Now I was thinking fast.

  'Bassin, I can appreciate your loyalty to Crispus. As a matter of fact I had a good opinion of him myself. But he's gone. And unless we do something, Atius Pertinax – who is a different kind of leech on the Empire altogether – will be hijacking the grain ships and threatening Rome.'

  The bosun was listening in his normal, impervious way. Desperate not to sound overhasty I confessed to him, 'I can't do this alone. I need your help, Bassus, or the game's over. You've lost the man you sailed for, and you've lost your ship. Now I'm offering you a chance to gain a heroic reputation and earn yourself an honorarium…

  Through the drink he thought about it. Drink apparently made Bassus a mellow, amenable type. 'All right. I can live with being a hero. So we need to think up a plan-'

  I had no time to waste being diffident. I had been mulling over this problem since I first came to Campania. I already had a plan. Without making a fuss about my forethought and ingenuity, I explained to Bassus what I thought we ought to do.

  I left him in Positanum to make contact with the grain ships as they arrived. Once most of the pack had gathered in the Bay of Saleroom, still out of sight of the feet at Miscoum, he would let me know.

  When the magistrate took his borrowed trireme back again round the headland, I asked him to drop my small party at Oplontis – though I did not tell him why. Gordianus knew. He had set himself the task of escorting the body of Aufidius Crispus to Neapolis, so now it was just Larius, Milo and me. Larius had done his bit for the Empire that day; I left him at the inn.

  Milo and I went to the farm.

  As we approached tentatively through the trellised arch we found the same smell and the same air of sour negleet. At first I was pleased to see that the dog was missing from his chain; then I realized it might mean he was roaming loose. When we got there it was dusk; after a long hot day the waft of ill-tended animals and old dung was stomach curling. Milo hung back.

  'You're useless,' I told him cheerily. 'Trust me to lumber myself with you. Milo, big dogs, are like bodybuilders – perfect cowards until they smell fear.' There was heavy perspiration on the steward's objectionable face, and I could smell his fear myself. 'Anyway, he hasn't found us yet…'

  We tackled the pungent outbuildings before we broached the house. In the split-boarded midden that passed for a stable we discovered a sturdy skewbald horse I recognized.

  'Pertinax had this gypsy as his packhorse when he was following me down to Croton! I wonder if the bastard's ridden off somewhere on the roan?'

  I led the way, biffing at blue flies, and we were nearing the house when we both stopped dead: intercepted by the guard dog.

  'Don't worry, Milo; I like dogs-'

  I did, but not this one. He was growling. He would be. I deduced this was not a mutt who would scamper off if someone looked him in the eye and shouted boo.

  He was as tall as a man if he stood on his hind legs, one of those browny-black creatures they breed for aggression, with a neck like an ox and small, mean eats. Milo gave him a few pounds but both the dog and I were aware Fido weighed as much as me. I was the kind of bite-sixed titbit this bully liked for a target; the bound was staring cold-bloodedly straight at me.

  ‘Good boy, Cerberus!' I encouraged him steadily. Behind me I heard Milo gurgle. What I needed was a poisoned chicken; but since Milo had watched Petronius have his skull split I was perfectly willing to let him be the bait instead.

  I murmured to Milo, ‘If you've got a bit of rope on you, I'll put him on a lead.' The dog had other plans. The rumble in the canine's throat assumed a more ominous note. I applied myself to calming him.

  I was still talking when he sprang.

  I rammed one elbow in his chest and braced both feet while I tried to hold his head and fend him off. I could smell dead meat on his breath, and his dentistry was unbelievable. I should have shouted at him fiercely; you have to dominate a mobster like that. I never had the chance.

  ‘Stand back, Milo-'

  Same old Milo: give him an order and he did the opposite. Luckily for both of us, Milo's idea of taming a dog was to grab him from behind, then jerk up his snout, twist it sharply, and break his neck.

  We stood in the yard, frankly quaking. I admitted to Milo that I reckoned we were quits.

  We found Laesus hiding. We dragged him outside, backwards.

  Milo pushed him on the ground. The sad side of his face splashed down in a cowpat; the happy half could see what Milo had done to the mountainous dog.

  'Falco!' he gasped, trying to grin in his old friendly manner. At first I went along with it.

  'I've been hoping to meet up with you again, old friend. I wanted to warn you, next time you drink saffron pottage at your favourite eating house, watch out for the belladonna they add to the broth!'

  Grinning at the thought of someone poisoning my pottage, Milo pushed the sea captain's face deeper into the dung.

  'I lost my ship!' Laesus complained. As a sailor he could cope with fishiness, but close contact with the joys of agriculture was making poor old Laesus lose his nerve.

  'That's a tragedy. You can either blame my nephew – or put it down to having gobbled up my sacred goat!' He groaned and tried to speak again but Milo was enjoying himself the way he liked best: showing off how powerful he was, punishing someone unpleasantly. 'Where's Pertinax, Laesus?' I demanded.

  ‘I don't know -' Milo demonstrated to Laesus the points on his body where pressure is unbearable. I winced, and looked away.

  I told Laesus what I had worked out about Tarentum loyalties. 'I should have remembered Calabrians stick together like this farmyard muck! I suppose you rescued me in Croton market because even in Bruttium an Imperial agent dead in the Forum might attract attention. You preferred to polish me off privately – and it's lucky for me you failed! I wondered why you pressed me so hard to sail with you to Rhegium afterwards; no doubt I would have jumped overboard with fishing weights in my boots. Gordianus was lucky he had Milo in attendance while he was on your ship. Now where's Pertinax? Tell me, or you'll do worse than eat manure; Milo will be spreading the fields with what's left of you!'

  Milo lifted the sea captain by his neck and his heels, far enough for him to gasp the words: 'He found a message here that his father has been taken ill. But-'

  'But what?' I snarled.

  'He said he might be visiting his ex-wife on the way!'

  LXXI
V

  We had a quick scout round the farm, but the occupants must have scarpered. All we found were more evil odours, ants in the cheese press, and busy flies. Then, as we picked our way out along the rutted track, we ran into the black-chinned villain who had chased me that first day.

  Milo was encumbered with Laesus, who saw this as his chance to escape and began struggling furiously. I took on the farmer. He was fresh, and I had made the mistake of letting myself relax. We circled ominously. He was missing the cudgel this time but I could tell from his stance that violent country wrestling was his speciality; I preferred games of skill. We grappled briefly, and the next moment I was lying on my back with all the breath knocked out of me. But I was fit after my holiday; so I scrambled up for the next throw, more wary this time.

  It never came. There was a flash of white, an unexpected scurry, and before I could tackle him the farmer had collapsed headlong. A goat had knocked him flying – a goat whose wild eye and eager expression looked somehow familiar. I said, 'Your stock's well trained!' Then I gave the floored yokel a tap on the forehead that left him cold. He would wake up with a furious headache to find us long gone.

  The animal that flattened him let out an impassioned bleat, then launched at me. I struggled to stay upright, fending off the attentions of yet another old friend from Croton I had never expected to encounter again.

  Laesus looked self-conscious. 'Every time we got the fire lit she ran off. She's nothing but trouble, Falco; you can have her back-'

  And so we left that filthy hideaway: Milo dragging Laesus on one piece of rope, and me holding another string to lead my sacred goat.

  When we arrived in Oplontis I put Milo in charge of escorting the sea captain to a berth in the Herculaneum jail. My personal grudge dictated I go for Pertinax myself. Milo understood that; pursuing grudges was a hobby of his own.

  Although Helena Justina was still at the inn, Larius assured me in an undertone there had been no sign of Pertinax. I reckoned I knew why. That snob would never expect a senator's daughter to stay in such deplorable surroundings solely to help stricken friends; he would assume she still lived at the villa. Yet even if he did know we had her, we could frighten him off now. Aemilia Fausta had been as good as her word. She had already sent transport for our invalid and his family – plus an armed guard from Herculaneum who were so excited at the prospect of action they intended to stab first and ask questions afterwards.

  I drew Larius to one side.

  'I'm going up to the villa Rustica. I don't know what I'll find. I need you to look after the people I'm responsible for. I want them all to leave Campania. I don't like the way Pertinax is preoccupied with Helena; it's not safe. If I tell her the truth, she'll argue. So we'll say that Petronius Longus is being whisked back to Rome under armed guard because he is a material witness, and I'll ask Helena Justina to go too-'

  ‘To supervise?' grinned Larius; I chortled back abstractedly.

  ‘Yes; she'll like that…' Then I looked at him properly. ‘You were a good lieutenant on this trip. I could use you, Larius. Drawing the Battle of Actium three times a month is soul-destroying. You ought to be using your grit and initiative – and be showing off to girls! Want a job as my assistant back in Rome?

  My nephew laughed. He told me frankly that he had more sense.

  I got them away that night. The cavalcade left in a resinous tang of torches: a rapidly convened train of baggage and querulous children, led by Larius and Ollia's fisherboy driving Nero with Petro's culleus of wine. We had certainly assembled a quaint batch of souvenirs. Milo's shrimp took charge of my goat, who was being sent with Nero to live on Petro's cousins' farm.

  When it came to the point, my plans crumbled: face to face with Helena I told her the truth.

  'Yes, I see.' She always had a quiet response to a genuine emergency, though obedience to my instructions had never featured much in our relationship. 'Marcus, is it still your intention to put Pertinax under arrest?'

  'He has two deaths now to answer for, plus the attack on Petronius. Whatever his old father thinks, Pertinax is no longer simply a conspirator who can hope for an amnesty. After his arrest on the Iris, he must know it himself. But that only makes him more desperate.'

  'I was so hoping we could find a way to make things right for him-'

  'I hate you to defend him!'

  Helena held me by the shoulders, looking miserably anxious. ‘Marcus, I had more loyalty to you after four minutes in your arms than I felt towards him after four years of marriage – though that does not mean I have no loyalty to Pertinax at all.'

  I caught her face between my hands. 'Helena! You have to let him go!'

  'I know that,' she said slowly.

  'I don't think so! When you reach Rome, stay indoors and if Pertinax tries to contact you, you must refuse!'

  'Marcus, promise me one thing: don't kill him.'

  'I don't want to kill him.' She said nothing. 'Helena my love, someone may have to.'

  'If it has to be done, let somebody else be responsible. Marcus, don't forget that whatever you do, you and I will always have to live with it-'

  That 'always' was a hard one to resist. Suddenly I was seeing her in closer focus, as I had not done since Petronius had been attacked. 'If I leave him free to murder again, I shall have to live with that!'

  Helena Justina gave a long, ironic sigh. 'Then I shall have to bury him.'

  'Duty's a wonderful thing!'

  There were tears in her eyes. 'And what am I to do if he kills you?'

  'He won't,' I said harshly. 'I can promise you that!'

  I stopped her talking, as I held her tighter and smiled tenderly into her anxious eyes, shutting out all thoughts of Pertinax. She was holding me in a way that reminded me how badly I wanted her. She looked exhausted. She had been here at the inn with me for almost a week, uncomplaining and supportive even when I dragged in at night too far gone to eat the meal she had saved for me, let alone to provide any demonstration of my love.

  ‘We've been living together here,' I acknowledged ruefully. 'And I've been too preoccupied even to notice it!'

  ‘Ah well!' smiled Helena in her dry, practical way. 'I had always assumed that was what living with you would be like!'

  I promised, ‘One day we'll do it properly.'

  Helena Justina studied me, standing very still. ‘You know that's what I want,' she said.

  Then I kissed her, trying not to let it seem like the last kiss I might ever give her, and Helena kissed me – so sweetly and for so long I almost dreaded that she thought it was.

  Everyone was waiting for us. I had to let her go.

  LXXV

  At the Villa Marcella I was met by Gordianus.

  ‘I thought you were on funeral duty, sir.'

  'Too anxious to relax. Where's Milo?'

  'Herculaneum; incarcerating the sea captain. What's the situation here?'

  'Caprenius Marcellus has had a stroke-'

  ‘Don't believe it! As an invalid that old man is as genuine as a reluctant wife claiming a headache-'

  'It's true, Falco; the doctor says another will finish him.'

  'Pertinax?'

  'No sign. But his father is convinced he will come.'

  'Just you and me then, sir, sitting at the Villa Marcella, waiting it out…'

  Us, waiting for him at the villa. And Pertinax out there somewhere, waiting for the grain ships to arrive from Alexandria.

  Strokes were something I knew. My Great-uncle Scam, an eccentric old rascal, not least for being fond of me, had several (though in fact my amiable uncle died from choking on home-made false teeth). I went in to inspect Marcellus for myself.

  The diagnosis was correct. It's grim to see an intelligent man so drastically struck down. The worst aspect was that his slaves were terrified. So he was not only paralysed and robbed of proper speech; he had the added indignities of being treated like an idiot and seeing his servants afraid to deal with him.

  I had nothing else to
do, so I set about interpreting. At least when he wanted a drink or his pillows raised he could be made comfortable more quickly. I sat with him; read to him; even – since I was handy and it saved fuss – helped the poor old devil to his sickbed commode. The range of my work never failed to amaze me. Here I was: a trireme smash yesterday; a dogfight today; now a consul's nurse.

  ‘You're doing well!' Gordianus commented, looking in.

  ‘I feel like his wife. Next thing, I'll be complaining about my dress allowance and the Consul here will call my mother an interfering witch.'

  ‘What's he saying now?'

  ‘Ah, he wants to change his will.'

  The Consul dribbled agitatedly. 'Helena… Gnaeus!'

  I asked, 'You want to leave your estates to Helena, so she can hand them on to Gnaeus?' He lay back, satisfied. I folded my arms, letting him see I was unimpressed. 'Lucky you trust the lady! Most of them would snatch your money, then run off with the nearest low-rank muscleman who has a hint of disreputable promise in his smile-'

  He started mouthing anxiously again. I let Gordianus calm him. Anyone who tried to use Helena to help Pertinax lost my sympathy.

  After Gordianus left us I sat looking fiercely at Marcellus, while he glared indignantly at me. I said conversationally, 'Helena Justina will never remarry your son!'

  Caprenius Marcellus continued his bleak, accusing stare. I could see he knew now just what I was telling him.

  The ex-Consul had finally realized which sturdy member of the gutter-clogging classes had managed to subvert his daughter-in-law.

  We waited four days. Then a discreet message from Bassus in Positanum informed me that enough corn transports had assembled to initiate the next stage of my plan.

  I went down to Oplontis for a friendly chat with the driftwood-featured father of Ollia's fisherboy. That evening I watched the tuna boats sail out with their bobbing lanterns, in the knowledge that wherever they were casting their nets the word would spreadAulus Curtius Gordianus, a distinguished priest (we all know priests!) who had inherited his brother's maritime villa on the cliffs near Surrentum, was celebrating his legacy with a private party for his masculine friends. It was supposed to be a closely guarded secret; there was talk of a specialist dancer with extraordinary proportions being brought specially from Valencia – and he was laying in few quantities of wine.