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

by A Body In The Bath House(lit)

  “I’ve seen Pomponius scraping himself down with those,” Cypnanus said. The architect’s strigils had smooth rounded ends, and were all undamaged. No bloodstains either.

  We were both expiring with the heat. We left the corpse and sought fresh air.

  helena had followed me to the bath house. Looking anxious, she was waiting in the entrance, accompanied by Nux and our bodyguard. I asked the Briton to go and tell the King what had happened, then to arrange quietly to close off the baths, leaving the corpse inside for the moment. That way nobody else would discover the dead man.

  “It’s late; it’s dark; half the people from the site are off in town. Let’s keep this quiet until morning. Then I’ll call a site meeting and start an enquiry. I always like to examine witnesses before they hear what’s happened.” The Briton looked worried. “This is my job,” I said patiently. “Work I do for the Emperor.”

  I He gave me a look as if he felt perhaps I caused such tragedies by my very presence. He still seemed not to believe I had an official role, but toddled off to report to the King. Togidubnus would know the position. Vespasian would have told him I was to investigate the rash of ‘accidental’ deaths. Little did we think that would include the project manager.

  “What are we to do now?” Cyprianus groaned. He sat on one of the benches in the changing area. I dumped myself nearby; Nux jumped up on another bench and lay there with her big hairy paws together, taking an intelligent interest; Helena sat alongside me. With the cloak I had earlier discarded pulled tightly around her body, she was |

  frowning. I told her the details rapidly, in a low voice.

  I was tired. Shock had worsened how I felt. Nonetheless, I stared

  hard at the clerk of works. “Cyprianus, you were on the scene within

  H

  a short time of the murder; your evidence is crucial. I shall have to ask you to go through it sometime. Let’s start now.”

  Like most witnesses who sense they have become suspects and must explain themselves, he showed a flash of resentment. Like the intelligent ones, he then realised it was best to accept the situation and clear himself.

  “I had a long day, Falco. Meetings, arguments with the men. I stayed on site, pottering. I must have been the last one there.”

  “That’s usual?”

  “I like it. Especially when things are going wrong. You get time to think. You can make sure no bastards are hanging around, up to no good.”

  “And were they?”

  “Not once they saw me doing my rounds. Most of the types who enjoy plotting had scarpered into town early.”

  “Because of the Mandumerus exposure? Do you expect trouble?”

  “Who knows? In the end, they want the work. That helps encourage them.”

  I sat quiet, wearily.

  Helena Justina adjusted her wrappings, turning one end of the cloak back over her left shoulder like a proper modest stole, and tightening the rest around her body so her long skirt flounced from under it, hiding legs that deserved display. “I heard about the quarrel this morning between Pomponius and Falco,” she said. “Wasn’t there another site meeting in the afternoon?”

  Cypnanus looked askance, expecting my support against this feminine intrusion. When I, too, simply sat and waited for his answer, he forced out, “There was.”

  “What happened?” I nudged him myself, so he would get the idea that Helena and I worked in partnership.

  “We all went over the same ground again. Magnus lost his temper exactly the way you had, Falco. I managed to hold onto mine, though I was close to dotting Pomponius more than once. Lupus did not want to take the Britons onto his complement, so our plan to reorganise the labour force was soon bogged down.”

  “Why is Lupus opposed to it?” Helena asked.

  Cyprianus shrugged. “Lupus likes to do everything his way.”

  “So Lupus was angry, Magnus was angry, you were too,” Helena counted off. She spoke quietly and calmly. “Anybody else?”

  “Rectus the drains engineer was sounding off. A new consignment of ceramic pipes has walked. They are very expensive,” the clerk of works explained, assuming Helena would have no concept of equipment pricing. He was not to know that far from having a steward to pay all her bills, she carried out that task for me. Helena checked invoices with a meticulous eye.

  “What are these pipes?” I asked.

  “We are using them in the garden watering system. The garden goes in last; Rectus was a fool to have called them up so early. Still, who else in Britain would have a use for them? I’ll have to check the site. The damn things could just have been unloaded in the wrong area, though Rectus says he’s looked…”

  Something bothered Cyprianus. He was worrying over this missing-pipes issue as it there was more to it than routine theft.

  Helena was on to it: “Have you lost expensive materials prior to this?”

  “Oh… it happens.” Cyprianus clammed up. “Falco knows the score.” There was at least one problem, with the marble cladding. Milchato had admitted it.

  Falco was not taking back the baton yet, however. Falco liked I

  seeing his darling investigate on his behalf.

  “Was Rectus angry?” she asked next, seeming merely curious. I

  “Rectus is a flaming comet. He only knows how to curse and rage ‘

  “What else happened at the meeting?” Helena asked. “Was anyone else upset?”

  “Strephon was agitating about that statue-seller you’re friendly with, Falco, the one who wants an interview. Pomponius hates salesmen. Strephon tried him again but he still said no. Strephon can’t tell hawkers to march. Strephon is too nice. He hates unhappiness.”

  “Would Sextius know yet that Pomponius won’t see him?” Helena was wondering if Sextius might have a grudge.

  “Only if Strephon has been a big boy and passed the information on. But Strephon was sulking the last I saw.”

  “What form did his sulk take?”

  “Biting his nails and kicking the stool Plancus was sitting on.”

  “Was Plancus irritated by that?” I put in, grinning. I

  “Plancus wouldn’t notice if his head fell off. Dim as a duck.” ‘

  “How did he get on a prestigious project such as this?” Helena asked. ,

  Cyprianus eyed Helena nervously and refused to answer.

  “It’s a good question. Tell us how!” I insisted.

  The clerk of works looked at me scathingly. “Plancus was Pomponius’ boyfriend, Falco. I thought you realised.” The thought _

  had never crossed my mind.

  “So Plancus joined the project only because he was the chief architect’s favourite-but he’s untalented?”

  “Coasting. World of his own.”

  “Strephon? Is he a pretty boy too?”

  “Doubt it. Strephon has a wife and child. As a designer, he shows potential. But with Pomponius ruling everything, it’s never been called upon.”

  “What are relations between Plancus and Strephon, then?”

  “Not close!”

  “And is Strephon jealous of the bond between Pomponius his superior-and the boyfriend Plancus?”

  “If he’s not he ought to be.”

  “It all sounds rather unhappy,” Helena said.

  “Normal,” Cypnanus told her gloomily.

  There was a thoughtful pause. Helena stretched her feet out, staring at her sandals. “Did anything else happen that we should know about?”

  Cyprianus gave her a long look. He was a traditionalist, unused to women asking questions on professional subjects; that ‘we’ of hers had raised his hackles. I knew Helena was aware of it. I shot him an inquisitive look myself, and eventually he forced himself to shake his head to Helena’s question.

  After a moment, he repeated his anxiety when we first sat down here: “What are we to do now?”

  “About the body?” I queried.

  “No, about the loss of our project manager, Falco! This is an enormous si
te. However is the job to continue?”

  “As normal, surely?” “Someone has to steer. Pomponius was a Rome appointment. We’ll have to send off for a new man; they must identify someone who’s good, persuade him that a remote sojourn in Britain is just the torture he wants, then extract him from whatever he’s working on at present… We’ve no hope they can find a good architect who is free at this moment. Even if they could, the poor sod has to get here. Then he must learn his way around someone else’s design plans…” He tailed off in despair.

  “Would you say,” I asked slowly, “Pomponius had been chosen for this project because he was good?”

  Cyprianus considered the proposition, but his answer came swiftly. “He was good, Falco. He was very good if he was held in check. It was just power he couldn’t handle.”

  “So who can?” I sneered.

  Cyprianus and I both laughed. It was a man’s joke. Even so, Helena gave a little smile at some amusement of her own.

  We heard noises; the King had sent people to lock up the baths as I suggested. I stood up stiffly. “It was late before; now it’s later. Two requests, Cyprianus: keep your mouth shut over this-don’t even relate the tale to your friend Magnus, please. And in the morning, can you fix me up another site meeting, with everyone who attended today?”

  He said yes to both. I was past caring whether he obeyed the plea for secrecy. This had been a long day and tomorrow was bound to be longer. I wanted my bed.

  I don’t know what arrangements Cyprianus made for his own security, but I made damn sure that my iamily’s suite was well locked up that night.

  XXXVII

  my bad tooth had reasserted itself when I arrived at the project meeting. I was late. I had had a rough night, due in part to the baby crying. But I absolved Favonia. I can never rest peacefully after an encounter with a corpse.

  Everyone else was already present. My hope for surprise was thwarted: they all knew what had happened. I wasted no time holding an inquest. There had never been much chance of keeping things quiet.

  We all crowded into the architect’s room, this time with me taking the chair. I sensed that it did not entirely put me in charge.

  The atmosphere was quiet, tense and sour. They were all aware Pomponius was dead, and they probably knew how.

  There had been collusion obviously. Instead of me watching them for their reactions, they were all staring at me. Informers recognise the challenge: well, let’s see if you can work this out, Falco! If I was lucky, they were just curious to see how clever I was. A worse alternative would be that they had set some trap. I was the man from Rome. I should never forget that.

  Present was all of the surviving project team: Cyprianus the clerk of works; Magnus the surveyor; both Plancus and Strephon the junior architects; Lupus the overseas labour supervisor; Timagenes the landscape gardener; Milchato the marble mason; Philocles Junior the bereaved mosaicist, taking his father’s place; Blandus the fresco painter; Rectus the drainage engineer. Absent was anyone representing the British labour now Mandumerus had absconded. Gaius represented all the clerks. Alexas the medical orderly had joined us at my request; later I would escort him to the bath house to remove the body. Verovolcus had added himself, no doubt at the instigation of the King.

  “Should we have carpenters? Roof-tilers?” I asked Cyprianus.

  He shook his head. “I stand in for the trades unless we have a technical issue to discuss.”

  “You wanted all of us from the farting meeting yesterday,” Rectus groused.

  “That’s right. You had an issue to raise then?”

  “Technical hitch.”

  He did not know that Cyprianus, while in shock last night, had described the hitch: expensive ceramic pipes missing and Rectus incandescent with fury. “It’s sorted?” I asked innocently.

  “Just routine, Falco.”

  The drainage engineer was lying or at least putting me off. It might be significant or just symptomatic. The team was against me, that was certain.

  It was not the first time everyone in a case was hostile, but that was to my advantage. I had professional experience. Unless they regularly arranged murders when life became difficult on site, they were amateurs.

  I There was not much room in the project manager’s packed ’” quarters, and certainly no privacy for individual questioning. I handed

  them tablets that I had brought for that purpose and asked everyone to write down their whereabouts the previous evening, supplying the names of anyone who could vouch for them. Verovolcus looked as if he thought himself exempt from this after-banquet parry game, but I gave him a tablet anyway. I did wonder whether he would be able to write, but it appeared he could.

  “While you are doing that, can I make a general appeal for anyone who saw anything significant in the region of the royal bath house?”

  Nobody responded, although I thought there were some sideways glances. I realised that when I came to look at these tablets the men were gravely inscribing, they would all fit neatly, each one covered with an alibi and each in turn covering somebody else.

  “Well,” I said quietly. “I don’t suppose Pomponius had many friends here.” That did raise a cynical murmur. “Most of you represent larger groups; in theory, anyone off the site could have born a grudge and done for him last night.” Downcast eyes and silence were now my only reward for this frankness. “But my starting point,” I warned them, ‘is that the killer, or killers, was somebody of status. They are permitted to use the King’s bath house and last night Pomponius accepted their presence when they joined him in the caldarium. That rules out the labourers.”

  “Ruling us in?” concluded Magnus wryly.

  “Yes.”

  “I object!”

  Out of order, Magnus. Pomponius will receive the same consideration as anyone. Being a bad team leader, even a highly unpopular one, does not excuse violent removal. Brutus and Cassius realised that.”

  “So you would have offered a crown to Pomponius, Falco?” Magnus scoffed.

  “You know what I thought. I loathe that type-it changes nothing,” I said tersely. “He still gets a funeral, a Daily Gazette obituary and a courteous report on his demise for his grieving parents and the old friends in his hometown.”

  I nearly said and for his lovers. But that meant Plancus, for one. He was a suspect.

  Plancus had already handed in his tablet; I glanced at it, looking casual. He claimed he was dining with Strephon. Strephon still held his own tablet, but I knew it wrould confirm the tale. There was supposedly no love lost between the two junior architects, yet they had somehow produced cover for each other last night. Was it true? If true, was it pre-arranged? And if so, was taking a meal together normal or exceptional?

  People had noticed me looking at the Plancus offering. There was a general move to collect and deposit the other statements. I publicly declined to look through the tablets. Camillus Aelianus, still laid up with his bitten leg, could play with these fabrications for me. I had no patience with their obstructiveness.

  Magnus was still trying to force issues. “Surely your concern, as the Emperor’s man, is how losing Pomponius causes yet another hitch in the project?”

  “The project will not suffer.” I had worked this one out while I lay awake in bed last night.

  “Shit, Falco -now on top of everything, there is no project manager!”

  “No need to panic.”

  “We need one-‘

  “You have one.” My tooth gave a twinge, so I may have sounded curter than I meant. “For the immediate future, I myself will take over.”

  Once the words were out, it made me gulp myself.

  As their outrage boiled up, I interrupted levelly: “Yes, Pomponius was an architect, which I am not. But the design is good-and it is complete. We have Plancus and Strephon to take forward the concept they will be assigned two wings each to supervise. Other disciplines and crafts are controlled by you people. You were chosen as leaders in your field; you can all c
ope with autonomy. Report to me on progress and problems.”

  “You have no professional training-‘ gasped Cyprianus. He seemed truly shocked.

  “I shall have your competent guidance.”

  “Oh stick to your brief, Falco!” Magnus roared. I had suspected that Magnus would seek control himself. Maybe I would recommend it-but not while he was, with the rest, under suspicion for Pomponius’ death.

  “My brief, Magnus, is to steer this project back on target.”

  “I concede you are a tough auditor. But do you think you have the expertise to supewiseT

  “That would be nonsense.” I kept my reply gentle. “In the long term Rome has to appoint a man with standing and professional skills.” Plus man-management and diplomacy, it I had any say. “It will not necessarily be another architect.” Magnus cheered up. “In the interim, I can supply common sense and initiative enough to stitch things together until we appoint a replacement.”

  “Oh this needs approval from the governor, Falco ‘

  “I agree.”

  “He won’t allow it.”

  I’ll be pushed out then. But Frontinus is renowned for technical nous and practicality-I know him. I’ve worked with him. I came to Britain because he asked for me.”

  That silenced most of them. Magnus did mutter, “Someone else seems to have a lust for power!” I ignored that. So he sought to bamboozle me with “We’re held up by some major indecisions, Falco.”

  “Try me.”

  “Well, what is to be done about incorporating the old house?” he demanded with ill-concealed truculence.

  “The King wants it. The King is an experienced client, prepared to endure any inconvenience-so go ahead. Raise the floor levels and bring the existing palace into the new design. Had you already looked into this?”

  “We did a feasibility study,” Magnus affirmed.

  “Let’s define that,” I offered light-heartedly. “Feasibility: the client proposes a project, which everyone can see will never happen. Work is held in abeyance. Some disciplines do carry out independent preliminary work, failing to inform the project manager that they are doing so. The scheme then revives unexpectedly, and is throum into the formal programme with inadequate planning…”