Lindsey Davis - Falco 13 - A Body In The Bath House

by A Body In The Bath House(lit)

  “Now this dodge has come to light,” I said, ‘we have to stop it. I suggest we stop paying the supervisors in the current way. Instead of group rates based on their reported manpower figures, we’ll make them each submit a complete named roll. If either can’t write Latin or Greek, we can provide him with a clerk from the central pool.” I was thinking ahead to how other scams might develop: “Rotating the clerks.”

  “On a random basis.” Cyprianus at least was working on the same lines as me.

  “Cyprianus, you will have to become more involved. You know how many men are on site. From now on, you should always countersign the labour chits.”

  That meant if the problem persisted, the clerk of works would be personally liable.

  I wondered why he had not spotted anomalies previously. Perhaps he had. Possibly he was crooked, though it seemed unlikely. I bet he just felt nobody would back him up. Judging him to be sound at base, I left that un pursued “I would like to know why you keep the two gangs separate,” I said.

  “Historical,” Cyprianus replied. “When I came out here to set up the new project, the British group were already on site as the palace maintenance crew. Many have worked here for years. Some of the old ‘uns actually built the last house under Marcellinus; the rest are their sons, cousins and brothers. They had formed established, tight-knit teams. You don’t break those up without losing something, Falco.”

  “I accept that, but I think we have to. Amalgamate the groups. Let the British workers see that we are angry; let them know we have formally discussed whether to dismiss them. Then split them up and re-allocate them among the foreign sector.”

  “No, I won’t have that,” Pomponius interrupted haughtily, with no logic. He just hated to agree anything that had come from me. “Leave this to the specialists, Falco. Established teams are a priority.”

  “Normally yes. But Falco has a point-‘ Cyprianus began.

  Pomponius brushed him aside rudely. “We shall stick with the present system.”

  “I believe you will regret it,” I said in a cool tone, but I let it rest. He was the project manager. If he ignored good advice, he would be judged on results. I would report to Rome-both my findings and my recommendations. If the labour bill then stayed too high, Pomponius was for it.

  A wider issue struck me. With Verovolcus present, raising it was tricky: I wondered whether King Togidubnus had known all along about the phantom labour. Had it been a regular arrangement for years? Were previous Emperors, Claudius and Nero, each overcharged? Was this fiddling routine-never detected by Rome, until new Treasury vigilance under Vespasian brought it to light? And so had the King knowingly allowed the fraud as a favour to his fellow Britons?

  Verovolcus glanced at me. Maybe he read my mind. He was, I thought, intelligent enough to see that whatever had gone on under the old regime, the King now had to operate my package of reforms.

  “We shall have to deal carefully with Mandumerus.” I was still trying to impose physical order. The last thing we wanted was an outbreak of sabotage. “If Mandumerus has been sharing his proceeds with his men, they are bound to feel sympathy for him if he’s arrested not to mention their grief for lost income. It could lead to revenge “incidents”.”

  “What do you suggest, then?” snapped Pomponius.

  Hold him liable for the lost wages. I recommend taking him under guard to Londinium. Get him right away from here ‘

  “Not necessary.” Pomponius reacted with daft bias yet again. “No, no; this is where we can show our magnanimity. A gesture to local sensitivities. Diplomacy, Falco!”

  Diplomacy my arse. He just wanted to cut across me. “You cannot have him staying in the district as a focus for disruption. The men go drinking in Noviomagus every night. Mandumerus will be sitting right there, inciting them ‘

  “Nail him up, then!”

  “What?”

  Pomponius had had another wild idea. “Put up the man on a crucifix. Make him a direct example.”

  Dear gods. First this clown ran a completely lax site, then he became a scourge.

  “That’s an overreaction, Pomponius.” This was serious. We had the brooding presence of Verovolcus -no longer the comic figure, but a hostile witness whose knowledge of these mad Roman machinations could do us great harm. “Crucifixion is a punishment for capital of fences I cannot allow it.”

  “I run this site, Falco.”

  “If you were a legionary commander in a full war situation, that might pass for an excuse! You answer to the civil powers, Pomponius.”

  “Not on my project.” He was wrong. He had to be wrong. Pained silence from Magnus and Cyprianus confirmed that Pomponius might get his way. Unluckily my own brief did not extend to locking up the project manager. Only Julius Frontinus could authorise such a major step-but the governor was sixty miles away. By the time I could contact Londinium it would be too late.

  “What tribe is Mandumerus?” I asked Cyprianus.

  “Atrebates.”

  “Oh, well done, Pomponius!”

  This would have been bad enough in any province. Exposing locals as corrupt had to be handled with great delicacy. Of course there must be a public scapegoat-but would he be a scapegoat for decades of royal complicity and Roman mismanagement? His punishment had to reflect any ambivalence.

  Pomponius smiled serenely. “All issues of design and technical competence, welfare, safety and justice are mine. We endure quite enough pilfering. Organised fraud will be drastically punished…”

  “Why don’t you keep a bunch of man-eating leopards in the depot along with the guard dogs? You could throw wrongdoers to the beasts in your own little arena, with you daintily dropping a white kerchief to initiate the tun-but you cannot do that.” I knew I was right. “Only the provincial governor has praetorian power. Only Frontinus is invested with the Emperor’s authority to execute criminals. Forget it, Pomponius!”

  He leaned back. He had taken up position today in a folding seat, the symbol of authority. He put the tips of his fingers together. Light flashed off his enormous topaz ring. Arrogance flowed around him like a general’s overweight crimson cloak. “I shall adjudicate, Falco and I say the man dies!”

  Verovolcus, who had stayed significantly silent, rose swiftly and left the meeting. He made little fuss. But his reaction was clear.

  “Straight to the King,” Cyprianus muttered.

  “Straight in the shit for us,” growled Magnus.

  In Britain, where memories of the Great Rebellion were set to last for ever, the causes ought to have been fixed in the architect’s mind: high-handed Roman violence by minor officials who had had no feeling for the tribes and no judgement.

  The Atrebates here in the south had not joined Queen Boudicca. When Rome was nearly swept out of Britain, the Atrebates had supported us as usual. Romans fleeing from massacre by the Iceni had been welcomed, comforted and given refuge at Noviomagus. Togidubnus had again offered our beleaguered armed forces one safe base in the enflamed province.

  Now a member of that loyal tribe had committed fraud, perhaps with official connivance. We had to keep it in proportion: the fraud had resulted only in financial loss, not real damage to the Empire. The damage would be caused if we handled the situation badly.

  How could Pomponius be blind to the implications? If he executed Mandumerus, we were verging on an international incident.

  I was so angry I could only jump up and storm out. I strode away so furiously I had no idea whether the sycophants all stayed with Pomponius, or whether other people followed me.

  XXXIII

  nobody was working on the site. Of course they all knew what was happening.

  Verovolcus had gone ahead and disappeared from view. I strode to the old house. At the King’s quarters I was turned away. Not wanting to create a scene, I headed for my own suite.

  A couple of warriors were lounging outside in the garden. Seeing me, one of them stood up slowly. My heart sank. He was only saluting. These must be our bodygua
rds. I managed to find a smile for him.

  I stormed indoors, disturbing a scene of domestic peace. The children were being good for once. Maia and Hyspale were using hot rods to frizzle their hair into rows of formal curls. Helena was reading. Then she read my expression. Seeing I had a real crisis, she abandoned the scroll.

  As I told Helena what was up, Maia listened in, grim-faced. Finally my sister burst out, “Marcus, you said you had brought me from Rome for safety! First last night’s trouble-and now more problems.”

  “Don’t worry. His work is always like this.” Helena tried to make light of it. “He rampages about as if the gods had him under a murderous curse-then he clears everything up. Next minute he’s demanding when is dinner…” She tailed off. It was doing no good.

  The way Maia was standing very stiffly made me drag my concentration round to her. She met me with a hard stare.

  “Everything’s fine.” I dropped my voice soothingly. Reassurance failed to work. Maia had learned to be suspicious of men pretending to be affectionate.

  “I have been talking to Aelianus,” Maia retorted. Helena must have fetched him here while I was at the site meeting. Deeming him at least innocent of the conspiracy to bring her away from Rome, Maia volunteered to nurse him. “He says his brother goes drinking in the town.”

  “Yes, it’s a ploy. Quintus is on watch for me. Drinking is what young lads do on a night out… Look, Maia, I have an issue that needs quick thinking. Unless this is important-‘

  Maia said in an accusing voice, “There is a dancer, Marcus.”

  “A dancer. Yes. Luring good men from their mothers.” “A dancer here in Noviomagus.” Maia was not recommending a good night out to improve our social lives. What had caused only vague unease in me was a source of terror for my sister. “You knew it and you failed to tell me!”

  “Maia, the Empire is stuffed with grimy Castanet girls ‘

  The bluff failed. Maia already knew why the dancer might be a threat to her: “This one comes from Rome-and she is special, isn’t she?”

  “Justinus did tell me the woman was causing excitement some young chit who takes off more of her clothes than usual, no doubt-‘

  Maia simply glared at me.

  “What is it, Maia?” Helena asked in a troubled voice.

  “Anacrites has a dancer who works for him.” Maia was stony. “He once told me he has a special agent who works for him abroad. He said she is highly dangerous. Marcus, she has followed me. He has sent her to get me.”

  My sister had a right to be angry. And frightened too. I threw back my head and breathed slowly. “I doubt if this is her.”

  “You know all about her, then?” Maia shrieked. Wide-eyed, Helena had now caught on.

  “Oh yes.” Did that make me sound efficient, or just devious? “Her name is Perella. I met her in Baetica. Helena and I both met her. As you see we survived the experience.”

  Perella, it had turned out then, had not been in Baetica looking for me. But I did remember how it had felt while I had thought I was her target. She and I had had a wrangle afterwards, when I stole the credit for a job she had wanted as her own commission. Our relationship since had been professional but she was no real friend of mine.

  It did not help that when I mentioned Perella, Helena hugged her arms around herself and shivered. “Marcus, why would Perella be here?” she asked. “Why would she know anything about Maia?” I tried not to answer. “Marcus! Has Anacrites really sent her?”

  “If it is Perella, I can’t say what Anacrites has told her to do.” Helena knew, as I did, Perella would simply follow orders. She would assume it was state business.

  “Tell me the truth!” Maia ordered. She tossed her dark curls contemptuously.

  i?5She had a right to know. “All right. This is the situation: Perella was seen in Rome, hanging around your old house. That’s why some people wanted you to leave.”

  ‘ What? Who saw her?”

  “I did.” Naturally, Maia was furious. Helena, too, looked annoyed that I had kept it secret.

  My sister’s next question slightly surprised me. “Did Petronius Longus know all this?”

  “Yes. I’m sure that’s why he helped your children with their scheme to extricate you-‘

  “And what about extricating my children?” seethed Maia. “It hasn’t worked, has it? I am still being chased by this woman, while my poor children ‘

  “Are with Petronius,” Helena interrupted. It was in effect her confession that she had been involved. “They are safe.”

  “What is he intending to do with them?”

  “Let them be seen in the neighbourhood for a while, so it looks as if you are still in Rome’ I could easily see that going wrong. My anger at Petro for not talking to me about the plan redoubled. “Then of course he will take care of them in the safest way. Don’t worry about them,” Helena insisted. “Lucius Petronius knows what to do.”

  All Maia’s old fear of Anacrites had returned. I was none too happy myself. I’ll go and look at this dancer,” I offered gently. “Don’t worry about it, Maia. I shall know if it’s Perella or not. As soon as I have sorted out this site problem, I’ll go and check.”

  LXXXIV

  that was a hiccup that I could have done without. Perella! Dear gods.

  Sorting the labour problem would be a time-consuming enterprise, thanks to Pomponius. Luckily we had a short reprieve: Mandumerus must have heard we were on to him. When I made enquiries, I was told the rogue supervisor had left the site.

  The other workmen now gathered in groups, muttering. I thought it unlikely they would go for me, at least not openly. When I approached, most pointedly turned their backs. One man with a barrow of spoil came straight at me and tried to push me into a deep trench. Soon afterwards, as I walked under scaffolding against the old house, a sandbag which had been used for weighting a pulley suddenly fell off and crashed right beside me. It missed, or the deadweight could have killed me.

  There was nobody in sight above. It could have been an accident.

  I might extract information from the one man who seemed to be at odds with Mandumerus -Lupus, the other supervisor. But when I asked after him, he was unavailable. Pomponius had now called a site meeting, with the leaders of all the trades like the gathering from which he had debarred me on the day I arrived. Whether today’s was to discuss general progress or to make specific changes following my revelations about the labour scam I did not know. He did not invite me to attend.

  I worked in my office with Gaius all afternoon, trying not to feel demoralised.

  Just before we packed up, someone threw a large rock through our open window. Gaius and I spent half an hour discussing whether to ignore this vandalism or stress ourselves reacting publicly. We chose to feign indifference.

  Regular hard work lost its interest. Instead, Gaius said, “I did look out for Guttus and Cloaca, those pipe-benders you were asking about.”

  “Drippy and Drainage? Finding Gloccus and Cotta could be too much excitement at present, Gaius.”

  “Neither is here,” he assured me. “I checked all through the lists when I was doing the comparisons and, Falco, they don’t feature.”

  “False names.” I grimaced despondently. “Like their fake workmanship.”

  “Does Lupus know anything about them, Falco?”

  “He says no.”

  “Mind you, Lupus is the worst liar I’ve come across,” Gaius beamed cheerfully.

  I groaned. “How unusual!”

  “They could be anywhere, you know, Falco. Some of the trades come out here on contracts-but a lot of men just turn up. Chances are they will be taken on if they can show a good pedigree from Italy or anywhere else that sounds civilised. We are making demands that Britons are not used to-unfamiliar materials and sophisticated techniques. A craftsman who says he has handled fine marbles, say, will be at a premium.”

  “But plenty of cities in Gaul and Germany are being restored or expanded-so there is big competition
for craftsmen, Gaius.”

  “Right. Even in Britain, towns are throwing up temples to the imperial cult, or fancy public baths.”

  “It’s baths that interest me. And my information is that Togidubnus has a private plan to renovate his facilities here.”

  “He has a firm lined up, I think,” Gaius told me. “Some crew that Marcellinus, the old architect, recommended.”

  “Do you know them?”

  “I’ve been told nothing about it.”

  “Is Marcellinus involved with the King’s bath refurbishment?”

  “That creep Marcellinus would like to be involved with everything,” Gaius grumbled.

  “He’s ex. Is he a problem?”

  “We can’t winkle him out. He’s always hanging round the site. He really irritates Pomponius.”

  “Don’t most people?” I laughed.

  The afternoon site meeting must have broken up at exactly the time I dropped my pretence of working and emerged. Most people scattered, but I caught up with Blandus, the chief painter. I had wanted to speak to him ever since I saw him being injured in the fight with Philocles. He was walking slowly, perhaps still in discomfort. When the others saw me, they scurried on, heads down; he could not hop away so fast, so was lumbered.

  “Glad to see you about again!” He grunted. “I’m Falco. A painter’s looking for me. Is it you?” He grunted again, apparently a negative. Conversation was not his strong point. Hard to see how he had such notorious success with women. Maybe he achieved his wicked way using those old Roman standbys: a noble profile and suggestive winks.

  His profile was nothing to talk about, in my opinion.

  “It must be your assistant, then.”

  “I know nothing about that,” muttered Blandus grumpily. “He does what he likes. I’ve been laid up.”

  I gave him a dry look. “Yes, I was there. Tough about Philocles Senior! I hear Junior is cut up over losing his papa.”

  Blandus, who had caused the trouble by seducing Philocles’ wife all those years ago, refused to react. Still, I felt better for pointing out someone other than me had made enemies around here.