Florius was a mess. He was a shapeless lump, too heavy for his own good and unkempt with it. His baggy tunic had spots of dried fish pickle down the front. It was untidily hooked up over his belt, from which hung a fat hide purse so old its creases were black and shiny and stiffened with use. His boots had been handsome knee-highs once, but their complex thongs were mud-splashed and needed grease. His feet were badly mis-shapen with corns; the thick toenails had been hacked short, apparently with a meat knife. His brown hair looked as if it had been cuts in tufts by several barbers over several days. He wore his equestrian ring, plus a haematite seal and a couple of other heavy gold lumps. This was hardly for personal adornment; his fingernails were ferociously bitten, with ragged cuticles. His hands looked in need of a wash.
This neglected bundle received my greeting without alarm. He put away his notes, which looked like details of form. (I craned for a look, hoping they would be lists of stolen goods; nothing so obvious.) He was sharp enough in his obsession; as I had approached the temple I had seen him scribbling away with his stylus so rapidly that in minutes his little squiggly figures filled a whole waxed board. I determined not to ask him about racing. He was clearly one of those mad devotees who would bore you to death.
A gusty wind had driven a sharp rain shower over the Plain, so I suggested we take shelter. He clambered to his feet and we strolled inside the temple, passing the statues of Augustus and Agrippa in the vestibule. Though I rarely entered the Pantheon, it always had a calming effect on me. The gods looked out peacefully from their niches in the lower drum while clouds covered the open circle in the roof.
'Wonderful building,' I commented. I liked to reassure my subjects with some casual chat – a few pleasantries about the beauty of concrete before suggesting that they had better talk or I'd tear their liver out 'They say it's the first piece of architecture that was designed from the inside outwards instead of the other way. Don't you think the proportions are perfect? The height of the dome is exactly the same as its diameter.' Florius took no notice. That did not surprise me. The Pantheon would have needed four legs and a bad-tempered, pockmarked Cappadocian rider before Florius raised a flicker of interest. 'Well! You're a hard man to catch up with, I must say!' He looked nervous. 'Your friend seemed to be protecting you. Have you been bothered by any unwelcome visitors?'
Florius cleared his throat 'What do you want?' He had one of those light, overcheerful voices that always sound unreliable.
'I'm Didius Falco. A special investigator working on your father-in-law's case.'
He exclaimed in considerable anguish, 'Oh no!'
'Sorry, does this bother you?'
'I don't want anything to do with it'
I took a chance. 'I sympathise. When you discovered what kind of family had tricked you into marriage, you must have felt really trapped.' He said nothing, but made no protest, 'I've come to you because I realise you're different.'
'I don't know anything about what my father-in-law does.'
'Have you seen him?' I asked pleasantly.
'Oh don't get me into this!' he pleaded.
'You have? How long ago was that?'
'Five or six days ago.' Interesting. It was only a week since we put the big rissole aboard the Aphrodite at Ostia. Florins had spoken without intending to co-operate, but now he decided to ditch Balbinus anyway. 'I'm not supposed to tell anyone.'
'Of course not. It's very unfair of him to put pressure on you this way.'
'Oh I wish he'd just go away.'
'I hope he will do soon. We're working on it hourly.'
'Oh?' Florius seemed puzzled. 'I must have misunderstood. I thought you said you were a special investigator. But you're with the vigiles?'
'Can it be that you don't think the vigiles are pursuing matters energetically?'
'My father-in-law reckons they do what he likes,' he answered flatly.
That was bad news for Rome. I was supposed to be looking into this. Rubella would be overjoyed. I broached the issue carefully: 'Look. This is just between us.' He looked grateful for the confidence. A simple soul. 'The vigiles are themselves the subject of a probe at the moment. Obviously I cannot be too specific, but my role includes reviewing them… Perhaps you can help.'
'I doubt it!' The great booby just wanted to hide his head in a sack.
'I don't suppose Balbinus mentioned names?'
'No.'
Did he say anything about his escape from the ship?'
'The ship he was supposed to leave on? No.'
'Can you tell me what he wanted with you?'
'He only wanted me to tell him how Milvia was. He's very fond of her. Actually, he wanted me to tell her he was home again, but I refused.'
'If he's so close to her, why didn't he come to your house?' 'He was afraid people might be watching it.'
'Does Milvia know he's here in Rome?'
'No. I don't want her to know. She's my wife, and I want to keep her out of all this. He doesn't understand.'
'Oh he wouldn't, Florius. He's been a villain all his life. His wife is as bad. They wanted Milvia to have a respectable place in society, but that doesn't mean they really think there is anything wrong with their own way of life.'
'Well it's made them rich enough!' snapped Florius. -
'Oh quite. Do you know where I can find Balbinus?'
'No. He just appeared one day. I used to spend time in the Portico of Octavia; he found me there. So now I come here just to get away from him.'
'I'm very glad to hear your attitude.' There was no harm in putting pressure of our own on him. 'It's wise, Florius. I expect you realise your position could be awkward. There are people who keep saying you may work with Balbinus in some kind of partnership.'
'That's nonsense!' His fists were clenched. I sympathised. Innocence can be hard to prove. 'I answered all their questions before the trial happened. They assured me there would be no more trouble.'
'Of course… Going back to Balbinus being here now, is there a system set up for you to contact him?'
'No.' Florius was exasperated. 'I don't want to contact him; I want to forget he exists! I told him not to bother me again.'
'All right. Calm down. Let me ask you something different. Was it Balbinus who gave you the glass water jug, the one all the fuss has been about?'
'Yes.'
'He approves of you then?'
'No, he thinks I'm nothing. It was a present for Milvia.'
'Did you tell her that?'
'No. I took the damned thing home, then I had to be vague about it. I don't want her to know he's here. I don't want him to give her gifts paid for from his illegal activities.'
'Pardon me, but you and Milvia seem to have a strange relationship. I've been trying to meet you at your house, but you're never there. You hate your wife's family, and you seem to have little to do with her, yet you stay married. Is this for purely financial reasons? I thought you had money of your own?'
'I do.'
'Are your gambling debts exorbitant?'
'Certainly not. I've been very successful.' He might support the Whites, but clearly he did not bet on them – unless he bet on them losing. But no one would give him long odds. 'I'm just about to buy a training stable of my own.'
I whistled jealously. 'So what's with Milvia?'
He shrugged. Complete disinterest. Amazing.
I gave him a stern look. 'Take my advice, young man!' He was about my own age, but I was streets ahead of him in experience. 'Either get a divorce, or pay some attention to your wife. Be businesslike. A racing trainer wants to impress the punters. You can't afford to have whiffs of scandal sullying your name. People you depend on will just laugh at you.'
Forgetting that people would know he had a father-in-law who was a condemned extortionist and murderer, Florius fell for the domestic threat. 'Milvia wouldn't-'
'She's a woman; of course she would. She's a pretty girl who's very lonely. She's just waiting for a handsome piece of trouble to walk in and s
mile at her.'
'Who are you talking about?' It would have been tough talk, had he not been less worked up than a scallop basking open on a sandbank. Pardon me; scallops lead lives of vivacious incident compared with Florius.
'It's hypothetical.' I was terse. 'Let's stick with your father-in-law. It sounds to me as if you have a very strong interest in helping the officials discover him. To start with, you can assist me. I was enquiring into the glassware. It is stolen property – ' Flosius groaned. He was a man in a nightmare. Everything he heard about the Balbinus family – including my instructions about his wife – made him more anxious. 'I don't suppose Balbinus made up a story about where he got it from?'
'He didn't have to make it up,' said Florius, sounding surprised. 'I was with him at the time.'
'How come?'
'He kept insisting he wanted to send a present to my wife. He made me go with him to buy something.'
Taking a hostile witness to a receiver's lockup sounded strangely careless for a king of crime. I was amazed. 'Balbinus bought his gift? Where from?'
'A place in the Saepta Julia.'
It was still raining, but the Saepta lies right alongside the Pantheon. I dragged Florius across the street and into the covered market I made him show me the booth where the jug had been purchased. Almost as soon as we reached it, the eager proprietor hurried out to greet us, clearly hoping his previous customer had come back for more. When I stepped into view, the atmosphere cooled rapidly.
I told Florius to go. He already had a jaded view of life. I didn't want him more upset. And I did not want any strangers present when I spoke my mind about the glass to its slimy, seditious retailer. All our efforts to follow up the Syrian water jug had been a waste of time. It had no bearing on the Balbinus case. The 'stolen' glass had never been lost. All I was pursuing here was a sleazy compensation fraud – one to which I was myself inextricably linked.
'Hello, Marcus,' beamed the dealer, utterly unabashed as usual.
I answered in my blackest tone, 'Hello, Pa.'
'That crown of yours was a gorgeous bit of stuff. I can make you a fortune if you want to sell. I had one customer who was interested -'
'Who actually bought it, you mean?'
'I told him Alexander the Great had worn it once.'
'Funnily enough, that's one of the ludicrous stories the original salesman tried out on me. You're all the same. Though not all of you steal from your own sons and go in for blatant fraud!'
'Don't be unkind.'
'Don't make me livid. You bastard, you've got some explaining to do.'
Frankly, now I knew the 'loss' of the glass was just another example of my father on the fiddle, I did not want to hear any more. 'Ah Marcus, settle down – '
'Stop warbling. Just describe the man who came here with the limp lettuce leaf who was just with me – the man who bought the glass water jug.'
'Balbinus Pius,' answered Pa.
'You know that thug?'
'Everyone knows him.'
'Do you know he's an exile case?' -
'I heard so.'
'Why didn't you report seeing him?'
'He was buying-, I don't throw trade away. I knew someone would be on to him eventually. That great po-faced lump of a friend of yours, presumably… Come in for a drink,' invited my father cheerily.
Instead I left.
LV
As I strode angrily home I felt edgy. For one thing I had ringing in my ears various sly protestations from Pa – mighty claims that he had meant no harm (oh that old story!), and bluster that he would never have accepted compensation illegally… To be descended from such a reprobate filled me with bile.
There was more to my sense of unease than that. Maybe I was growing jumpy. The knowledge that Balbinus was here and apparently flourishing, despite all the law's efforts, depressed me bitterly. What was the point in anything if criminals could do as they liked and go where they pleased, and laugh at verdicts so blatantly?
The city felt unfriendly. A cart raced around a corner, causing walkers and pigeons sipping at fountains to scatter; it must be breaking the curfew, for dusk had only just fallen and there had hardly been time for it to have reached here legitimately from one of the city gates. People pushed and shoved with more disregard than ever for those in their path. Untethered dogs were everywhere, showing their fangs. Sinister figures slunk along in porticoes, some with sacks over their shoulders, some carrying sticks that could be either weapons or hooks for stealing from windows and balconies. Groups of uncouth slaves stood blocking the pavement while they gossiped, oblivious to free citizens wanting to pass.
An irresponsible girl backed out of an open doorway, laughing. She banged into me, bruising my forearm and making me grab for my money in case it was a theft attempt. I roared at her. She raised a threatening fist. A man on a donkey shoved me aside, panthers of garden weeds crushing me against a pillar that was hung dangerously with terracotta statuettes of goggle-eyed goddesses. A beggar stopped blowing a raucous set of double pipes just long enough to cackle with mirth as a white-and-red-painted Minerva cracked me across the nose with her hard little skirt. At least being pressed back so hard had saved me from the bucket of slops that a householder then chose to fling out of a window from one of the dark apartments above.
Insanity was in Rome.
When I reached Fountain Court the familiar scents of stale flatfish, gutter water, smoke, chicken dung and dead amphorae seemed positively civilised. At the bakery, Cassius was lighting a lamp, meticulously trimming its wick and straightening the links on its hanging chain. I exchanged greetings with him, then walked up on that side of the street to say a few words to Ennianus, the basket-weaver who lived below my new apartment. He had supervised removal of the skip. I borrowed a flat broom and swept some loose rubbish up the gulley so it was outside a house whose occupants never spoke to us.
I was still talking to Ennianus when I spotted Lenia taking tunics down from a line across the laundry's frontage. I turned my back, hoping to avoid being hailed for a boring discussion of her wedding, now only ten days away. She must have missed me; her eyes were never good. Either that or she had finally given up any hope of cajoling me into sympathy. I had no energy to spare for people who ought to know better, who dragged aggravation down on themselves. Rome was too full of trouble for me to face her tonight.
There was more trouble than I realised. When Ennianus grinned and told me it was safe to face the street again, I saw two men walking past the bather's shop. I knew I recognised them, though at first I could not remember why.
'Who are those two, Ennianus?'
'Never seen them here before.'
I felt I had a grievance against them. So I broke off my chat with the basket-weaver and quietly followed them.
As they walked I applied my subtle knowledge of the world to deducing what I could about them. From behind, they were ordinary, empty-handed punters, about the same height as each other, and the same build. They wore brown sleeveless tunics, belted with old rope by the look of it, unexceptional boots, no hats or cloaks. They must be outdoor types.
They were walking with purpose, though not hurrying.
These were not loafers just looking for fun in the city. They had a fixed destination, though they lost themselves on the way. They led me along on the Aventine summit towards the riverside, then discovered the crag and had to find a path down. They did not know Rome – or at least they were strangers on the Hill.
Eventually they hit the Clivus Publicus. They carried on downhill past the Temple of Ceres, then, when they reached the bottom near the Circus Maximus, they had to buy a drink at a streetside stall so they could ask directions from the proprietor. They next turned along the Circus and began walking its length; clearly they should have come down off the Hill in the other direction, towards the twin aqueducts and the Capena Gate.
We were in an area which had featured frequently in my life the past few days: that part of the Eleventh region which bordere
d the Circus. At one end lay the Forum Boarium, where the body of Nonnius Albius had been left on the pavement in the stink of animal blood. Along the valley of the Circus ran a narrow finger of land where stood the lavish houses inhabited by Flaccida and Milvia. Then, at the other end, were the cluster of dingy, unattractive streets which included Plato's Academy.
By the time we had gone that far, I felt unsurprised that the brothel should be where my two men were heading. I was also certain they were rogues. I could prove it: I had recalled where I first saw them, though it was not in Rome. Their names – their working names anyway – were Gaius and Phlosis. They were the pair of fake boatmen at Ostia who had tried to relieve me of my father's glass before I brought it to Rome for that other great fraud to try stealing it from himself.
I watched them enter the brothel, greeting the girl on the door as if they knew her. They could have been clients, visitors to Rome who had had Plato's recommended by a friend. That was my assumption until I realised the girl had let them enter without money changing hands.
There was no doubt Lalage had customers who kept monthly accounts here. However, the kind of men who were so favoured would not be lowlifes from the waterfront, but trusted people like the Very Important Patrician who came with lictors in tow. Gaius and Phlosis were here in some other, very different, context. And from the doorkeeper's friendly attitude, even if they had got lost on the Hill, down here at Plato's the incompetent couple were regular visitors.
I wondered whether to follow them in. I was in the wrong condition for adventures tonight. I was tired. It had been a hectic week, packed with incident, and I knew my concentration was slipping. Besides, Plato's was a huge warren; nobody knew I had come here tonight, and if I went inside I had no idea what I would be going into.
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