Nemesis mdf-20

by Lindsey Davis

  'That's very sad,' Helena interrupted. 'Children give so much pleasure and can be a comfort, Thalia.'

  'He'll get in the way!' Thalia replied, as riotously honest as when she discussed her sex life. Then she dropped me in the midden. 'You will have to bring him up, Falco.'

  'What?'

  'I thought about it. This is what Geminus wanted. You know it is. He told you in that codicil: you were to see my baby as your own sister or your brother. You can't argue with a fideicommissum.' She was calm. She was composed. Before I could bluster excuses, Thalia added the death blow: 'The best thing will be, Marcus darling, if as soon as he is born, you take him off me and adopt him.'

  I closed my eyes while it sank in. I had expected troubles to come with money. I knew some of them would be complex, many crushing. Cynical though I was, nothing of this magnitude had crossed my mind. There was no escape, however. Pa had landed me absolutely.

  I said I had to consult Helena. 'That's right,' Thalia agreed composedly. 'Then the dear little thing can grow up with you two, and be part of your beautiful family.'

  Those quick brown eyes of Helena's told me she foresaw everything, just as I did.

  So I acquired a 'brother', who was almost certainly not my brother but whom I had to adopt and endure as my son. I would have shared the money with him fairly willingly, but now I had to give him a decent chance in life as well – - quite another proposition. This could only go wrong. Helena and I anticipated from the start that little Marcus Didius Alexander Postumus (as his mother would name him, poor noddle) could never be grateful. We would offer him a home, education, moral guidance and affection. Pointless. A soulless waste of effort. He would be difficult to raise and impossible to console for the arbitrary fate that had been dumped on him. He was bound to seethe with jealousy and resentment. And I would not even blame him..

  Thank you again, Geminus.

  LXI

  There had been slaves pootling around us, but we dismissed them. Katutis did not even try to argue; he was learning.

  We sat in the salon. Helena had moved things around while I was in Latium. We reclined on day-couches with bronze fittings. Cushions in soft shades of blue and aqua lay under our elbows. The walls, newly painted last year, were respectable tones of honey and off-white, plain panels delineated by fine tendrils and elegant candelabrum motifs, intermittently relieved with discreet miniature paintings of birds, done in faint brushstrokes. These were civilised, though unpretentious surroundings. With her own sure taste, Helena had scaled down from when my father lived here, using less grandeur than when he had the place bursting with antiques. The salon made a quiet setting for the sombre discussion we were about to hold.

  Others soon joined us: first Albia, then Petronius and Maia. I had considered including Ma, but my habit of keeping secrets from her was too great. Helena rose to close the double doors for privacy. Before she resumed her seat, she stood for a moment: tall, wearing white with coloured bands and informal jewellery, just a matron at home, as ever on the edge of domestic harassment, always alert in case she was called away to scorched meat in the kitchen or bruises in the nursery. .. It would not happen today. Arrangements were in place. Here she was, the woman I loved, taking on the wider role of a Roman wife and mother: steering her family towards great decisions and the righting of intolerable wrongs.

  I smiled at her faintly. She understood what I was thinking. I had made a good choice.

  Helena said, 'This will be a family conference – in every sense, because we are all members of a family, and families are what we have to talk about. Nothing that is to be said in this room today may be mentioned outside it to anyone.'

  'Sub rosa,' said Aulus.

  'Isca rules,' nodded Petro.

  'Our rules,' my ever-caustic sister Maia corrected him.

  A formal family conference is the symbol of emergency in Roman society. It happens rarely, because it only happens after outside measures have been tried and have failed. A fallback when public systems have collapsed, it is used for both utterly private reasons and for arranging a challenge to political tyranny. This is the last meeting before assassinations, executions, exile or disgrace. This is where wives are summoned to account for adultery by stern old-fashioned husbands, then humiliating punishments levied with unpleasant aunts' encouragement. It is where necessary usurpation of rulers is plotted. Where suicide or honour killing is carried out, after rape or other violation.

  Our family council was where seven of us, my closest and dearest, assembled to unpick the full connection between the Claudii and Anacrites. Then we would decide what to do about it.

  First, Quintus reported events in Latium. I watched him, tall, still boyish in appearance though increasingly firm in manner. He had his father's straight rather spiky hair, his mother's bearing and good looks. He was more slightly built than his brother, though Aulus had lost weight since his marriage: stress, presumably.

  Quintus was concise, his tone almost pleasant. He could have been assessing routine logistics for a fort commander in a frontier province, as he concluded: 'We never had a chance to interrogate Claudius Nobilis. Everything else about him has to be conjectural – - except one thing: his eyes. After he died, Marcus and I noticed they were odd. Nobilis had pale eyes, eyes that were neither one colour nor another. Part grey, part brown. Extremely unusual.'

  I heard Maia catch her breath as she made the link. Albia was twisting her hands in her lap.

  'Neither of the twins, nor Probus, had that aberration,' Quintus continued, after a quick glance at Maia. 'Marcus and I checked the survivors. But we all know one other person whose eyes look two-coloured with some tricks of the light: Anacrites.'

  Helena took up the story, taking the narrative from her brother as smoothly as the sacred torch is passed in a Panathenian relay race. 'This explains many things. Let us go back to two slaves on an imperial estate in the days of the early Empire: Aristocles and Casta. Of course they could not marry while they were in slavery, but let's assume they met, matched and even perhaps began to have children then. They were freed, some say to get rid of them because they were so difficult. They had many offspring. Some died. Some of the girls broke away, at least partly, and married. The eldest was Justus, who died not that long ago, perhaps of a bad conscience. Nobilis was among the youngest, pushed out more, perhaps; having to jostle more for attention, maybe even for clothes, space and food.'

  My turn. 'One of the boys was called Felix. His brother Probus sneered: Felix, the happy and fortunate – - and a clever little sod too; well we lost him early, naturally… How did they "lose" him? We know now. When he was three years old his intelligence was officially noticed and he was removed from the family. In Rome, he was arbitrarily assigned a new name. It happens to slaves. So the man we know as Tiberius Claudius Anacrites began life as Claudius Felix. He may not always have remembered where he came from – - but he certainly knows now.'

  At that point, it was Maia, Maia who might have been expected to be harshest, who put in a word for him. 'Imagine how it might have been for a child so young to be forcibly removed from the people he thought were his own.' Shaking her head, she went on in a low voice, 'Aristocles and Casta may have been distant, even violent, as parents, but I dare say they screamed and shouted when they had to give him up. From what we know, they were possessive; he was theirs, their property.'

  'Casta may have tried to hang on to him physically,' Helena agreed. 'I know I would. Imagine the scenes – with the child hysterically weeping, torn from his mother's grasp by brutal overseers. Next, with Casta's screams ringing in his little ears, he was taken many miles away, nobody telling him why or where he was going. Perhaps he felt it was a punishment for some unknown naughtiness. Plenty of punishment went on among the Claudii – - he knew that concept. Dumped at the Palace, he wakes up in a cold dormitory. Other children there were strangers. They may all have been older, may have bullied him.'

  'He says his subsequent childhood seemed normal to him,' I
said. 'But was it really? He learned to survive – - but trauma and fear moulded him.'

  Petronius had been listening with distaste. Now he stretched his long legs and frame, looking too bulky for the couch. 'I'm more intrigued by where he is today. In adulthood, do you think he was aware who his family were?'

  'I doubt it,' I said.

  Petro grinned. 'We could ask him.'

  'You could. I wouldn't. He would only lie. In fact, as long as he can, he has to. He cannot hold a high imperial post as a known relative of murderous criminals.'

  'So we're getting to the heart of this, Falco. What happened to reunite them?'

  'Two years ago, or thereabouts,' Helena reminded us, 'the mother, Casta, died.'

  We were all silent for a while, wondering what that had been like, for the large sprawling family that Casta had ruled with her mixture of cruelty and indifference. Aristocles had gone before her. Casta's death destroyed their equilibrium, Virtus told me.

  Aulus leaned forwards. 'I bet there was a mighty big funeral. The full wailing, hypocritical orations. All sorts of sentimental grief. And presumably it was around then that somebody thought of contacting their long-lost brother Felix.'

  'Anacrites went to the funeral,' stated Maia. She was looking down at her feet. Maia was sitting sideways, adjacent to Petronius. Her feet were small, pressed together tidily, wearing stylish shoes in ox-blood leather. Maia looked at them as if she was wondering where the decorative footgear came from.

  'It begs the question,' mused Helena, 'how did his siblings find him?'

  Again Maia unexpectedly had answers. 'He told me once. He had a letter from his mother when she realised she was dying. After all, where he was taken as a child would not have been a secret. Casta must have followed his progress, either from affection or the possessiveness we mentioned. Anacrites answered her summons but when he got there it was too late. I never knew the funeral was in Latium; he kept quiet about his people living in the Pontine Marshes. It was just after I met him he told me, as a conversation gambit.'

  'Was he upset?' asked Albia.

  'He seemed so.'

  'He could have been acting.'

  'There was no reason for that.'

  'That's him, though. Defying logic'

  'His feelings need not concern us,' I said. 'The funeral was his downfall. Once they knew who he was, his brothers latched on like parasites. They saw Anacrites as their crock of gold. It looked innocent to start with. The twins asked for a job. How could he say no? He employed them; he may have welcomed them – agents he felt he could control, agents who would be loyal to him.'

  Petronius shook his head. 'The twins arrive in Rome. Anacrites quickly grasps his error: he will never shake them off. They start whining about conditions on the marshes. Their background is a reproach, their presence in Rome an embarrassment. They threaten the spy's ambitions.'

  'He wants out?' asked Quintus. 'But they refuse to go.'

  'Anacrites' unpredictability increases due to his head wound,' Helena said. 'He becomes vulnerable at work, with his position threatened by Laeta and even by Momus. At some ghastly point he learns the kind of crimes Nobilis and the others have committed. By then he cannot escape.'

  'And so we come to the Modestus murder.' I screwed my thumbs into my belt and took charge of the final argument. 'Everything went wrong with the fence dispute. Up to that point, I'd say Nobilis probably carried out all his killings in the area around Antium – the bodies Silvius has found. Nobilis and various brothers abducted people for years, usually travellers, often couples. Those cases were concealed, but he lost it with Modestus. By tailing Modestus to Rome, for once Nobilis left a trail. Nobilis – - presumably with Pius or Virtus – - killed Modestus on the Via Appia. They spent several days at the crime site, desecrating the body, then Nobilis went home. Primilla came looking for her husband, so he killed her too, with her overseer, Macer. That meant her nephew alerted the authorities and a posse arrived to shake down the Claudii. From then on, we can assume pressure was put upon Anacrites to protect them. That may well have been when one of them told him about the murders. It made him more insecure and dangerous. Crucially, he inherited the same manipulative traits as the rest of them – - a situation which they may not have foreseen. He turned on them.'

  'He may have been appalled by their crimes,' Helena said, always fair.

  'He was certainly furious about how it threatened him personally! Perella was sent after Nobilis, but Nobilis got away. Anacrites tried to remove Nobilis from the scene, taking him to Istria. Whose idea that was we can never know. Perhaps they really found their grandmother. One way or another, Nobilis refused to play; he would not stay in exile. Idiotically, he sailed back with Anacrites – - who then must have been as close to hysteria as he ever gets.'

  'Not him!' Albia scoffed. 'He thinks himself invincible. In his eyes, everything that happens is manipulated by him. He believes he is a genius. When I was in his house he said, "Falco can't touch me; I run rings around him". He had been drinking, but he meant it.'

  With a glance at Petronius, I said slowly, 'He may in fact have been more clever than we think. What Anacrites achieved may not have been entirely crude. The way he grabbed the Modestus case and warned off Petronius and me seems plain stupid. Some of his actions – - house searches, annoying the Vestals – seem worse.'

  'Well, they were!'

  'Perhaps not, Petro.'

  'Oh Titan's turds!' Suddenly, Petronius saw where I was heading. He was tired after last night's shift with the vigiles. Realisation drowned him in self-disgust and frustration. 'He cannot be this clever!'

  'Lucius, my old friend, I'm afraid he is.'

  'He played us?'

  'Tickled us like dim trouts in a mountain stream.'

  While Petro cursed and tried to pretend this had not happened, Helena Justina took over from me, to explain the unpleasant truth. 'Anacrites had a dilemma. The Claudii were threatening to expose his background unless he protected them. He had to make them think he was looking after them – - while all the time that busy brain of his, the intelligence even Laeta compliments, was desperately finding ways to eliminate them instead. He had to deal with each in turn – and without the others noticing. He found the perfect solution. Marcus and Lucius, he used you two.'

  With a deep sigh I acknowledged it. 'He took away our case -knowing we would refuse to give up. A pattern existed. We had continued on cases secretly before. We hated him. He used our own doggedness against us.'

  Petro shared the confession: 'He organised either the twins or Nobilis to kill that courier, so they would think he was cleverly diverting attention from them in the Modestus case – '

  'When I asked, he even admitted the diversion idea stank,' I said. 'He made sure we had seen through it. He wanted us to stick to the Claudii.'

  Petronius groaned. 'Then he began picking them off- – using us. We did his dirty work; he looked innocent to his brothers. He sent Pius to us deliberately. He'd dispatched Virtus to the marshes, so he could not help his twin. We helpfully took Pius – '

  'We fell for it like automata.'

  'So whose idea was that, Falco?'

  'Be fair – both of us,' I pointed out. Petronius shrugged acknowledgement. 'The spy avoided looking for Pius until he thought we must have finished him off. Even Pius realised he was abandoned.

  He gave up. He saw Anacrites was never going to rescue him, because Anacrites had planned it.'

  'Pius could have told us,' said Petro.

  'If he explained what was happening, it was as good as confessing his involvement in the murders. Afterwards, Anacrites probably told Virtus to stay "out of the way" in the marshes, so he never realised his twin had gone missing. We know he then instructed Nobilis to run for cover – just when Quintus and I were on our way to Latium, and might have run into him.'

  Petronius cursed. 'I bet he knew all along we were working with Silvius and the Urbans. Jupiter, you don't think Silvius is some crony of his?'


  'No. I think Silvius is straight. Concentrate on Anacrites,' I instructed.

  'He jerked our string. We did everything he wanted. It is a compliment, really,' Petronius decided, with grim mirth. 'Marcus, a villain of unbelievable duplicity entrusted us with his schemes. We should feel proud he believes in us so much!'

  'I am proud of the work. We put four criminals out of action, after they had preyed on a community for decades. That is what we do with our lives, Lucius, and it is commendable.'

  Quintus and Aulus Camillus had been listening with tense expressions. I stood up. I paced the room a few times, before telling them. 'For Petronius and me, the work is not yet finished. I wanted you two to hear all this. Now I want you to go away and leave us to it. Preserve your knowledge of these facts, as curators of the truth. I need you to know, in case the rest goes wrong.'

  'The rest?' demanded Quintus quickly.

  'Don't do it!' muttered Aulus. 'Going after him is far too dangerous. Leave it, Falco. My father tried, but Titus spoke up for the spy. At the Palace they believe he is good at his job. The official decision has been made: Anacrites is too valuable to remove.'

  'I expected that. Hence this council.'

  I looked around the room: Helena; her brothers; my sister; our adopted daughter; Petronius; me. A close, closed circle, all of us touched in some way by the spy's past actions, all threatened by his future schemes.

  'Helena?'

  Helena glanced at Albia, then Maia. 'What do we all think?'

  'Leave him – - and it will only grow worse,' prophesied Maia darkly.

  'He claimed he can do anything he wants,' added Albia. 'I argued that he is accountable to the Emperor – but he told me emperors will come and go. He stays. He answers only to history.'

  'Hubris!' Helena retorted, as if charging Anacrites in person. 'Self-centred aggrandisement – an insult to the gods. What will the gods do about it?' she then wondered. Her dark brown eyes inevitably sought mine.

  'Send Nemesis to deal with him,' I answered.