Time to Depart mdf-7

by Lindsey Davis

  'Thank you, sir,' I replied, a mite sombrely.

  There was a small pause. Titus gazed at the dimly visible topiary. I restrained any urge to feel smug. Putting one over on the Emperor's elder son was not clever. Everyone knew Titus had a very pleasant temperament, but he could also have me sent down to Hades by the short route.

  'This will be a diflicult time for you, Falco. Is there anything I can do to assist?'

  'I don't think so, sir. I did once make Helena and her parents a rather rash promise to improve myself socially and marry her – but your brother tells me the equestrian rank is to be kept select, and I am not the right material.'

  'Domitian said so?' Titus appeared unaware of it. I didn't blame him. Rome was full of eager self-improvers; he could not expect to keep daily track of all of us. However, it might have been sensible to watch the ones that his family had kicked in the teeth.

  'Obviously, you will not wish to overrule your brother, sir.'

  'Oh, obviously not,' Titus agreed, though I detected exasperation that his brother had chosen to antagonise me. He was publicly loyal to Domitian, but his private opinion might be interesting. 'So you have been having a bad time lately? I discover you went to Nabataea, on the state's behalf, and encountered difficulties?'

  'There was no difficulty with Nabataea,' I told him. 'Only with the shark who sent me there.'

  'Anacrites! I'd like to hear your side of the story sometime,' Titus offered in a friendly tone. That left me worrying exactly what side of the story Anacrites had already told. I said nothing. Titus had known me long enough to realise when I was angry. Sometimes complaints have more effect if you make people sweat. 'My father would welcome a report – if you will consider it.' I love to see a prince pleading. 'We do need a confidential assessment of the situation in the desert.'

  I smiled. Without a word, I produced a slim scroll from my tunic. Helena, smart girl, had not only forced me to write up my findings, but she had guessed that I might find occasion to hand in my homework. This way Anacrites took no credit. He would not even know what I had said.

  'Thank you,' said Titus gently, balancing the scroll between his well-manicured fingers. 'You always serve us well, Falco. Both my father and I have a high opinion of your judgement and trustworthiness.' In fact they hated informers, and only used me when desperate. This must be leading somewhere. 'Do you want to tell me about the problems you encountered?'

  It was an invitation to land Anacrites in mule dung. Needless to say I took the sophisticated option: sheer stupidity. 'It's not important, Caesar. I survived.'

  'I think it is important.' Titus was acknowledging that spies receive speedy justice in hostile foreign kingdoms. 'You were sent incognito and somebody accidentally exposed you.'

  'Deliberately exposed me,' I corrected in a mild tone.

  'Do you want an enquiry into that?'

  'Best not find out,' I sneered. 'Anacrites is too dangerous to dismiss. Better for him the telling demotion: say, conducting a very long survey of ordering procedures for sanitary materials in the public-works domain.'

  Titus had always privately enjoyed my cynicism. He ran both hands through his neat hair. 'Falco, why is it when I talk to you I always end up wondering whether I can stand the pace?' He knew why. He was the Emperor's son, and would be Emperor himself. Few people would ever again offer him a decent argument.

  'I'm a sterling debater, Caesar.'

  'And modest!'

  I produced a gracious shrug. 'And the only kind of fool who'll risk offending you.' He accepted it, and laughed.

  'And have you been paid for your work?' Titus then asked narrowly. Whatever Vespasian and he wanted from me next must be spectacularly unpleasant.

  'Please don't trouble yourself. When the omens are right for the accounts clerks I shall draw my standard fee, Caesar.'

  'There will be an addition,' Titus remarked.

  'That's most kind.' I was convinced something big was coming.

  The pleasantries had been cleared away. Titus admitted that there was a reason why I had been summoned at night, without any record-takers present. He said the matter was confidential and sensitive; I could have guessed both. However, I had not guessed what I was being asked to undertake. And when I knew, I hated it.

  'What I am going to say to you must remain a complete secret. Nobody – nobody, Falco, however close to you – is to be told what we discuss.'

  I nodded. You commit yourself to this kind of nonsense like a Iamb. That's the trouble with secrets. Until you know what they are, how can you tell whether your ethical element approves of them?

  'Marcus Rubella,' Titus began crisply, 'is a recent appointment to the tribunate of the vigiles.' Quite so. Vespasian's man. The city cohotts must be reckoned to be fairly loyal, since even while his predecessor and rival, Vitellius, had ruled Rome, Vespasian's brother Sabinus had been Prefect of the City. Sabinus, a popular man trying to keep the peace in impossible times, inspired lasting respect. To reinforce that, officers throughout the civil institution in Rome were now, like those in the legions, being changed as the new Emperor handed out rewards and replacement where applicable.

  'I met Rubella,' I said conversationally.

  'I know that,' Titus said. A bad feeling was already creeping over me.

  'Seemed an interesting character.'

  Titus smiled. 'That must be some kind of cautious shorthand – Rubella said much the same about you.' So, since interviewing me only that morning, Marcus Rubella, the tribune of Petro's cohort, had been talking to Titus. Another evil sensation hit me somewhere in the lower gut.

  'This is rather unpleasant,' Titus explained inexorably. 'Rubella is disturbed about the low level of ethics amongst his men.

  Of course I had seen it coming, but I drew a harsh breath. 'Rubella thinks the Fourth accept bribery?'

  'Does that surprise you, Falco?'

  'I know one of them,' I confessed.

  'I am aware of that.'

  'I know him well.'

  'And?'

  And I could not stomach the suggestion that Petro might even be under suspicion. 'It's impossible.' Titus was waiting for me to elaborate. 'The man I know, my friend Lucius Petronius, is an impeccable character. You saw him at the meeting yesterday; you must have judged his quality. He is the man who has just expelled from Rome a major criminal. Balbinus Pius would never have been brought to justice without him.'

  'True. Were it not for that,' Titus said, 'he would be under a cloud with the rest, and there would be no question of asking you to assist us. We are assuming that Petronius Longus need not feature in Rubella's concern. However, Petronius must not be made aware of our enquiries until he is formally ruled out, and perhaps not even then.'

  "This stinks,' I said. 'You want me to spy on the Fourth – '

  'Not only them,' Titus broke in. 'Your special assignment is to involve any relevant regions of the city. What Rubella has reported about his own cohort may apply elsewhere – his may not even be the worst problem. I want you to take a close look at any cohort you come into contact with.'

  That was better. I had already gathered from Petro a feeling that some of the rest were much less choosy in their habits than his own team. But if I was not allowed to tell him what I was doing, it would be difficult to pry this kind of information from him. If I was underhand and he found out later, he would be outraged. Rightly so.

  'Sir, this could damage my most valued friendship.'

  'I apologise if so. But I believe you are capable of handling it.' Oh thanks! 'You were selected as particularly suitable. In fact, we have been awaiting your return from the East.'

  I managed a grin. 'So that was how you found out where I was!' Nice thought: the great ones wanting me for something else – and Anacrites having to own up that he had probably disposed of me. How happy they must all have been when my boots touched Italy again. "The Fourth Cohort trust me, sir. Because of my friendship with their enquiry captain.'

  'Exactly,' Titus insisted
. 'This is a far better disguise than if Rubella put in a special agent, someone who would inevitably be identified as Rubella's man.'

  'Very convenient!' I saw his point; that only made it worse. 'And is the graft Rubella suspects a general problem or does it relate somehow to the Emporium heist?'

  'Rubella thinks it may be relevant. The robbery occurred so swiftly after the criminal Balbinus left Rome.'

  'Jupiter! It's a mess if he's right.'

  'Rubella's a good officer. You will need to take extreme care, Falco.'

  'Do you trust Marcus Rubella?' I shot at Titus unexpectedly.

  'Rubella is a known commodity.' He accepted my suspicion indulgently. 'We trust him as much as we trust you, Falco.'

  If that was a joke, it was in bad taste.

  'If you will do this -' Titus began to say, but I was so angry with the mission that I cut him short.

  'Don't make promises,' I snarled, remembering how his brother Domitian had done me down when I asked for a just reward. 'I've had them before. I'll do the job. I'll do it well if I can.' Better me than some idiot from the spy network. 'Whatever you think of informers, rewarding me would be a sign of respect for my reliability, which you say you value. Maybe one day you will think about that, but in any case, I have to ask you this, Caesar: if as a result of this distasteful assignment I end up in a back alley with a knife in my ribs, I hope at least you will remember my family.'

  Titus Caesar inclined his head in agreement. He was known as a romantic. He must have understood which member of my family I meant. Maybe, since he really was a romantic, he even had some idea of her distress if she ever lost me.

  He was famous for his courtesy, so we had to end with further pleasantries. I slid mine in first: 'Please convey my regards to your father, sir.'

  'Thank you. It must be Helena Justina's birthday soon,' Titus offered in return. He liked to remind me that he knew when Helena's birthday was. One year he had even tried to inveigle himself into the family festivities.

  'The day after tomorrow,' I said firmly, as if it was in my every thought.

  'Do congratulate her from me.'

  I forced my teeth into a show of gratitude.

  I had not forgotten her birthday. Nowadays I even knew the date myself. For once I had managed to buy her a rather fine present. I had been trying not to think about that. Added to the various complex tasks that had been laid on me since I returned to Rome, it was one problem too many.

  Helena's present had been hidden amongst the Syrian glass that was stolen from my father in the Emporium heist.

  XXVII

  The streets were quieter, and dark. There was a chill in the air at night as autumn made its presence felt. I would have welcomed a cloak, though mainly it was what Titus had said that caused my shivering.

  I had to cross the Forum, negotiate the Palatine, and climb the Aventine. I walked steadily, keeping away from doorways and glancing down any alleys that I passed. I stuck to streets I knew. Where there was space for more than one person I went straight up the centre of the road. When I heard anybody who must realise I was there I made sure my tread was confident. If the other person did not appear to have noticed me, I kept quiet.

  I had a lot to think about. Domestic events alone were enough to take up all my energy: a pregnant girlfriend who still had to decide how she wanted to react; her family; my family. Then there were the hours of work I needed to put in on the new first-floor apartment; my friend Lenia's wedding, in which I was expected to participate as a convivial priest; and now the baby I had discovered in my skip. Just sorting out the foundling might take a week – a week I didn't have to spare for him.

  Somehow, too, I had to find a replacement birthday gift for Helena. I was short of cash (partly because I had spent so much on the now stolen original). There was an obvious solution, but it was one that niggled me: I would have to ask Pa to find me a tasteful antique in his warehouse, one he was prepared to let me buy at cost. For Helena he would probably do it – and for Helena, so would I without quibbling – but the process would be horrible. I felt tense just imagining what I would have to go through in the bargain with Pa.

  And now Titus had asked me to break faith with Petronius. I hated this. I was also angry that I was supposed to be on my own with it. The only person who would know anything about my filthy task was the tribune Marcus Rubella, and he was not the type I chose for consoling little chats. But even if I wanted it, seeking him out was impossible. If I tried nipping into the tribune's office to mull over my findings, all sorts of rumours would immediately start.

  Luckily I could talk to Helena. Although Titus had forbidden me to tell anyone about this, one exception could not be overruled. Whatever the jokes about keeping wives in ignorance, a Roman expected his domestic partner to bear his children, keep the store-cupboard keys, quarrel with his mother, and, if required, to share his confidence. The fact that Brutus failed to confess to Porcia what he was planning on the Ides of March just shows you why Brutus ended up as dead mutton at Philippi.

  Helena and I had always shared thoughts. She told me about feelings nobody would imagine she had. I rarely told her my feelings, because she guessed them anyway. I discussed my work. Openness was our pact. Neither Titus nor Vespasian could interfere with that.

  I had plenty of company on the streets that night. A couple of times I noticed groups of dubious characters huddled around the folding doors of lockup shops. Once there were scuffles above me as climbers scaled balconies on their way to upstairs burglaries. A woman called out, offering her services in a voice that reeked of dishonesty; having passed by in silence, I spotted her male accomplice in the next lane, hanging about waiting for her to bring a client for him to beat up and rob. A shadowy figure slipped from the back of a moving delivery cart, carrying a bundle… Slaves escorting a rich man's litter were sporting ripped tunics and black eyes, having been Mugged despite their sticks and lanterns.

  All normal. Rome was itself. No livelier than usual. Eventually I heard the tramp of the vigiles' foot patrol; someone in the shadows laughed at the sound dismissively.

  There were still lamps in the laundry. The slurred voices of Lenia and Smaractus were arguing dismally: all normal there, too. I reached in through a shutter to steal a light, then called goodnight, scaring the pair witless. They were too drunk to do much. Lenia cursed, but I was already heading up the stairs before they could try to lure me indoors to ramble about their wedding plans. I was not in the mood for a long wrangle about what colour sheep to sacrifice. I was not in the mood for Smaractus: end of tale.

  The lamp helped me avoid obstacles. Smaractus ought to have provided light if he wasn't intending to keep the stairs clear of toys and rubbish. As I mounted the stairs, my useless, sestercius-grubbing, dupondius-pinching landlord became the focus of my entire catalogue of frustrations and anxieties. If he had appeared in person, I would have knocked his head off…

  Movement in a corner attracted my eye. I reached for my knife, then decided a rat was about to tear out past me and got ready to boot it. The shuffle subsided; it was probably the mongrel Lenia called Nux. The scrawny bundle of misplaced hopefulness whimpered once, but I carried on upstairs.

  When I reached home, I saw that Helena Justina must be in bed. A dim taper provided a glow by which I found the skip baby in a basket that looked as if it came from Ennianus across the road. Helena had tucked the child up safely; somehow she must have fed him too, for he was placid, though whimpering slightly. I picked him up and took him out to the balcony to say goodnight to Rome. He smelt clean now, and slightly milky. He had a little burp on my shoulder; I joined in with a nicely controlled belch, showing him how to do it properly.

  After I put him back I noticed a bowl of cold fish and lettuce left on the table for me. I ate, pouring myself a cup of water. I blew out his taper to save the baby from fire, then found my way in darkness to my own bed.

  Helena must have been asleep, but she stirred as I crawled in beside her. Somehow sh
e realised how deeply disturbed my talk with Titus had made me. She held me while I told her the story, and calmed me down as I started to rant.

  'Why do I always have to get the filthy jobs?'

  'You're an informer. Finding unpleasant information is what you do.'

  'Maybe I'm tired of being despised. I'm tired of being a fool to myself. Maybe I should change my work.'

  'To do what?' Helena murmured, in a reasonable tone. 'Do you see yourself selling purses or plucking ducks?'

  'I hate women who reprove me with their sensible attitude when I'm trying to curse madly!'

  'I know you do. I love you even when you hate me. Go to sleep,' she said, wrapping herself around me so I could no longer jump about in the bed. I sighed, submitting to her good sense. About three breaths later I dropped off into a heavy slumber. In my dreams I knew that Helena Justina was lying awake, worrying for me over what I had to do.

  By that time the first victim would already have been tortured and murdered, and his body dumped.

  XXVIII

  Petro's whistle woke me from the street. Within the apartment it was still dark.

  We had been friends so long he could rouse me even from outside and six flights down. I knew it was him. When I dragged myself to the balcony parapet and looked over, he was standing below with one of the foot patrol. I could tell from the top of his head that he was cursing me for taking so long to appear. I whistled back and he glanced up. He waved urgently. I didn't stop to shout questions, but ran down to him, pulling on clothes as I went.

  'Morning, Petro. No problem with your cat, I hope?'

  He growled. 'Stollicus was right, Falco! You're an irritating, insolent, dozy dog.'

  'Stollicus just misunderstood my charm. What's up?'

  'Body in the Forum Boarium. Sounds like problems.'

  I let my curiosity ride. In the time it had taken me to come downstairs, Petro and the foot patroller had already strolled impatiently halfway along the lane. The three of us walked briskly to the end of Fountain Court, then hurried downhill, picking up Fusculus from his house. Petro must have banged on his door on the way to collect me and he was waiting for us, rotund and unreasonably bright for the time of day.