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

by A Body In The Bath House(lit)

  “I hate ambivalence,” I said. “But I was not sent here to push crude solutions. My role is two-fold: deciding what has happened then recommending the best action. “Best” can mean the most practical, or least damaging.”

  “Are you giving me a choice?” The King was ahead of me.

  “Two men were involved in the death of Pomponius. I’d say one is very close to you, and the other his known associate. Shall I name the suspects?”

  “No,” said the King. After a while he added, “So what is to be done about them?”

  I shrugged. “You rule this kingdom; what do you suggest?”

  “Perhaps you want them dead in a bog?” asked Togidubnus severely.

  “I am a Roman. We deplore barbarian cruelty-we prefer to invent our own.”

  “So, Didius Falco, what do you want?”

  “This: to know that nobody else working on this project is at risk. Then to shun domestic violence and to show respect for dead men and their families. In wild moments of idealism, maybe I want to prevent more crime.”

  “The Roman punishment for the base-born would be degrading death.” The Emperor’s judicial teachers must already have begun work. The King knew Roman law. If he was brought up in Rome, he would have seen condemned men torn apart by arena beasts. “And for a man of status?” he asked.

  “Nothing so decently final. Exile.”

  “From Rome,” said Togidubnus.

  “Exile from the Empire/ I corrected gently. “But if your culprits here are not formally tried, exile from Britain would be a good compromise.”

  “For ever?” the King rasped.

  “For the duration of the new build, I suggest.”

  “Five years!”

  “You think I strike a hard bargain? I saw the corpse, sir. Pomponius’ death was premeditated and there was mutilation afterwards. He was a Roman official. Wars have been started for less.”

  We sat in silence.

  The King moved to practical suggestion: “It can be given out that Pomponius was killed by a chance intruder, who had entered the bath house hoping for sex or robbery…” He was displeased, but he was working with me. “What of the other death? Who killed Marcellinus?” he challenged.

  I told him a hired dancer, her credentials insufficiently checked. The motive, I said with a slight smile, must be robbery or sex.

  “My people will search for her,” the King stated. It was not an offer but a warning. He might not know Perella worked for Anacrites specifically, but he had realised she had significance. And if the King found Perella, he would expect some kind of trade.

  Since I was sure she would have left the area by now, I did not care.

  I was uneasy. Aelianus and Justinus purred happily, thinking our mission accomplished. I had a dark sense of unfinished business waiting to disrupt my life.

  The site was too quiet. Never trust a workplace where absolutely nobody is standing around aimlessly.

  It was now the second half of the afternoon.

  Even this early, many of the labourers went tramping off the site, heading towards town. Soon it seemed as if they had all gone to the canabae. None of the project team were visible, so while no one wanted me to officiate, I retired to my suite to invest in the project manager’s privilege: thinking time, paid for by the client. Not long afterwards there was a clatter of horses and most of the King’s male retainers mounted up then swept off at a canter in the direction of Noviomagus too. Verovolcus was leading them. I assumed they had instructions from the King to search for Perella.

  They had not found her the last time they scoured the countryside. But Verovolcus might have more incentive, if he had spoken to the King since my meeting. He looked grim anyway.

  Helena’s brothers and my nephew Larius still believed the queen of dance would appear that night at the Rainbow Trout. To prepare for the entertainment, they all spent time at the bath house, throwing aside tools and other equipment left in the changing room by the contractors; the workmen, of course, had made a mess, then fled the scene. Nobody completes a bath-house contract overnight. Where would be the fun in that?

  Helena complained our suite was like a home with a wedding in the morning. A loner myself, I was appalled by the spectacle of modern youth getting ready for a big night out. Petronius and I never primped ourselves like these three. Aelianus stubbornly shaved himself, with a meticulous vanity that seemed typical. I reckon he skimned over his legs and arms too. The sight of Larius and Justinus simultaneously rasping at each other’s prickly chins while Aelianus kept possession of one dim hand mirror was unnerving. Then Larius cut himself while pruning his horny toenails and improvised a styptic paste with Justinus’ tooth powder. Soon extra lotions were being splashed into remote anatomical crannies for luck.

  Our rooms filled up with conflicting masculine unguents; cardamom, narcissus and cypress seemed to be this season’s favourites. Then Camilla Hyspale also started tickling noses as she tricked herself out in another room. Ringlets had been well scorched and her face was positively frescoed with a thick layer of white plaster and artistic paintwork. When her dabbing brought a reek of fiery female balsam, Maia ground her teeth then muttered to me, “That’s my Sesame Stink! It used to keep Famia off when he’d had a few… Have you actually agreed that Hyspale can go out with her paramour?”

  “Curiously, I am still waiting to be asked permission…”

  Determined not to volunteer, but to force Hyspale to seek me out with her request, I sauntered back to the lads’ room. The sight of their three glistening torsos, now stripped naked while they began fervently trying to choose tunics, convulsed me. Any woman who agreed to grope one of these beauties would find he slipped from her grip like a wet mullet. They were resolutely serious. Even selecting the right undergarments required a symposium. Length, fullness, colour, sleeve style and neck opening all had to satisfy stringent criteria and to look right with their favourite top layer. I could not bear to watch the belt stage. I went out for some air.

  Thus, by chance, I came upon a small figure who had been knocking at our door unheard.

  “Iggidunus!” I was still grinning over the scenes indoors. “What do you want?”

  “Message for you, Falco.” The mulsum boy was as unprepossessing as ever. Mud-stained, surly and dripping unhealthily from every orifice. At least he had not brought me a drink.

  “Who wants me?”

  “Your man Gaius.” I crooked up an eyebrow. Surrounded by idiotic youth, I was feeling wise, tolerant and mellow. Iggidunus viewed my kindliness with suspicion. Drawing in a huge sniff, he mumbled, “He’s found something at the secure depot. He asked me to come and get you quick.”

  I had thought we had discovered all the frauds on this site, but if any were still undetected, Gaius was the man to weed them out.

  Iggidunus was pressing me to hurry, but after all the times I had gone feet-out in a muddy slide, I nipped back inside to change my boots. Nobody was paying attention. I called out, Tin wanted at the depot; won’t be long!”

  Waste of time.

  When I went out to the veranda, the boy looked surprised that I was wearing a cloak, slung over my right side and corded informally under my left arm. I confessed we Romans felt the cold. He sneered.

  Iggidunus and I walked around the site by road. Thin sunlight bathed the huge expanse in light. We skirted the great open area that was to become the formal garden, then went around the corner. The perimeter road brought us to a gate in the high fence of the locked compound.

  I stopped. “Where are the guard dogs?”

  “In kennels or gone walkies.”

  “Right.” There was no sound of the ferocious hounds. Normally they bayed themselves hoarse if anyone passed by on the road. “How do we get in?”

  Iggidunus pointed at the gate. Quite rightly, it was locked. Cyprianus kept the keys and he had not returned from helping Magnus with the materials at the Marcellinus villa.

  “So, Iggy, where is Gaius?”

  “H
e was going to climb in.”

  “I didn’t know he was that dumb!” He was not the only one. I applied a toe to a crack in the fence and shinned up it. Once perched on the top rail, I could see Gaius inside, lying on the ground. “Something’s happened. Gaius is over there. He must be hurt. Iggidunus, run and find Alexas. I’ll go in-‘

  I swung over and dropped down. It was stupid. I would be lucky to see Iggidunus again. Nobody else knew I was here.

  For a moment I froze and surveyed the scene. The depot was a medium-sized enclosure, arranged extremely neatly with stores placed in rows, each wide enough apart to permit a small cart to pass between them. Wooden racks held large slabs of marble. Whole blocks of stone were supported on low pallets. Fine timber was arrayed in large quantities under a roofed area. Near the depot entrance, a stoutly built locked shack must be occupied by the special store man in working hours. Rare luxuries such as the jewel bases for fine paint pigments and even gold leaf might be kept there in safe custody for the finishing trades. Nails and ironware hinges, locks, catches and other fitments would be locked up in the dry too. A row of rough low hutments next to the shack was probably the dog kennels.

  Gaius was lying still, alongside the shack. I had recognised him by his clothing and hair. I cowered in the shadow, keeping in cover, watching. Nothing moved. After a moment, I ran lightly across to the prone figure. This area must have been used as a working marble yard at one time; white dust kicked up all over my boots.

  “Gaius!” He was so still because he had been tied up and gagged. He seemed unconscious too. I crouched over him, quickly scanning the nearby area. Nothing. I stripped off my cloak and draped it over him. With the knife from my boot, I began to cut away his bonds. “Gaius, wake up; stay with me!”

  He groaned.

  Talking in a low voice, I checked him over. He must have been thumped a few times. I had seen worse. The experience was probably new to him.

  “What happened?”

  I’Came for me but going after you,” he muttered groggily. It had a nice balance. I like a man who sustains his rhetoric even after a thrashing. “Britons.” I I dragged his arm around my shoulder. “They beat you?” I pulled

  Ihim upright. “I’m a clerk; I just gave in.” I started to manoeuvre him towards the fence. He let me push and pull him, not contributing much. I “How many of them?”

  “About eighteen.”

  “Let’s get out of here, then.” I tried to hide from him my anxiety. That ‘about’ was conversational stuff; as an invoice clerk, Gaius was bound to have counted them.

  We were at the fence. I had my back to the compound. This was bloody dangerous. I looked over my shoulder as much as possible.

  “I can’t make it, Falco.”

  “Only way out, lad.” I was very tense by now. They had brought me here for some reason. I was surprised nothing had happened yet. “Put your foot there, Gaius. Grab the fence and climb. I’ll shove you up from behind.”

  But he was desperate to tell me something. “Alexas ‘

  “Never mind Alexas now.”

  “Family in Rome, Falco.”

  “Fine. I wish I was there. Well done.”

  He was woozy. Getting him over the fence took a few tries. In fact, it felt like several hours of effort. I would not call Gains an athletic type. I never asked, but I guessed he had no head for heights. This was like acting as a caryatid to several sacks of soggy sand. Once I had heaved him halfway up, he stuck his damn foot in my eye.

  At last he was above me, clinging on, astride the top rail. I bent down to collect my cloak. “I’m feeling faint,” I heard him say. Then he must have slipped off, because I heard him crash-land luckily on the other side.

  I had troubles of my own. Had I stayed upright, I would be dead. For just as I stooped, a heavy spear thudded into the fence, right where I had been standing. Retrieving my cloak had saved my life. In two ways: hidden under it, I had brought something useful. So when the villain who had thrown the spear now rushed me as a follow through I was ready. He came straight into my knife which he clearly expected. As he parried the knife, I jerked out his innards with my sword.

  LIII

  don’t blame me. Blame the army. Once the legions train you to kill, any attacker gets what-for. He meant me dead. I slew him first. That’s how it works.

  I stepped away. My heart pounded so loudly I could hardly listen out for others coming. One down, seventeen to go! Stinking odds, even by my standards.

  It was a cluttered compound. If they were here, they were well hidden. Some were outside: when I turned back to shin up after Gaius, gingery heads appeared above the fence. I grabbed a long piece of timber and thrashed at them. One fell back. Another seized the plank and yanked it from my grasp. I jumped aside in time, as he threw it down at me. Otherwise, if they were armed, they were keeping their weapons for later. Sensing that there were more men inside the depot with me, I broke away, ran down an aisle and dodged through some racks of marble. Yells from the fence were reporting my whereabouts. I dropped, and wormed my way very fast at ground level into a long tunnel of cut timber.

  Suicide! My way was blocked. Trapped, I had to squirm backwards. Every second I expected to be attacked hideously from behind but the watchers had not realised I was backing out again. Men were searching the far end of the timber row where they thought I would emerge. Flattened and sweating with terror, I inched under a trestle. One man came to investigate the place where I went into the timber. He was too close to leave alone. Crouched in my hiding place, I managed a backhand sword-swipe through his legs. It was an awkward piece of scything, but I hit an artery. Anyone who hates blood can now go into hysterics. I had no time for that luxury.

  His screams brought others, but I was out of there. I leapt up on the marble sheets and went flying over the top this time. Slabs groaned and lurched beneath my weight. A spear whistled past my head. Another thudded harmlessly nearby. The third skimmed my arm. Then the marble slabs began keeling over. I had hit the ground again, but the row of tilted materials behind me slipped and crashed, each expensive slab grazing the surface of its neighbour, and some smashing into my assailants.

  While they jumped and cursed and nursed crushed feet, I doubled back unseen. I had some fun trying to climb around a stack of water pipes. Then I banged into a small pile of lead ingots; that brought back bad British memories for me.

  The custodian’s shack was locked. The only open hidey hole was the dog kennel.

  Bad move, Falco. The stench was dreadful. The hounds were out, but their mess remained. These were not lapdogs. They must be fed raw offal, without the use of fancy feeding bowls. Nobody had even tried to house-train them.

  Through a crack in the kennel door I could see swarming figures. The searchers thought I had scuttled among the timber again. They decided to smoke me out. Great. I preferred to survive than to save this valuable stock. It may have been imported from all over the Empire to create skirtings, folding doors and luxury veneers, but my life mattered more. Fire damage would be a new excuse in my financial reports. Who wants to be predictable?

  It took some time for them to make a light, then the hardwood refused to kindle. I could do nothing except lie low, while desperate thoughts coursed through my mind. If I tried to make a break for it, I stood no chance. The men were enjoying themselves. They thought they had me there, caught in a trap; at least one was prodding the stacked timbers with a long pole, hoping to puncture or spit me. Eventually they let out a cheer; soon I could hear crackling and smell woodsmoke.

  The noise and smoke were localised, but the passing of time had brought help. Some of it was unwelcome; in the distance I could now hear the dogs. Still, they were locked out, weren’t they?

  Not for long. Suddenly someone was trying to break down the gates-with a huge wheeled ram, apparently. It was a sound I last heard on an army training ground. Deep crashing noises came at regular intervals, accompanied by cheers. Even from within my hide I could tell that the gates wer
e weakened and about to give. I waited as long as I dared. As the gates of the compound crashed inwards, dragged open by a two-wheeled cart, I scampered out from the kennel before the guard dogs came home.

  “Falco!”

  Dear gods: Quintus, Aulus and Larius. Three incongruously well270dressed and coifed ram-raiders. My first hope was they were armed. No. They must have raced straight here without stopping to equip themselves. If they hoped to snatch me, they were thwarted by the assembled men who wanted to do for me first. These renegades rushed at us, whooping.

  We all set to, biffing at anyone with wiry ginger hair. Smoke was choking us. There were too few of us. If we tried to make a break for it, we would be massacred. So as we fought, the lads using timbers, we stamped at smouldering wood or tried smothering flames. A great oak log finally caught fire; Larius and I tried to haul it free. A thick haze of smoke had filled the compound. It helped give the impression there were more of us than actually existed. We concentrated on putting in the boot in traditional Roman style.

  Three of us had military training. I was an ex-foot slogger Both the Camilli had served as army officers. Even Larius, who spurned the army in favour of art, had grown up in the toughest neighbourhood in the Empire; he knew nasty tricks with feet and fists. Teamwork and grit soon showed our calibre. Somehow we cleared our opponents out of the depot. Then we blocked the gateway with the cart on which the lads had brought a large tree trunk as their improvised battering ram. They must have unhitched the beast of burden and combined as human mules to run the cart at the gates. Straight from the training manual. But with nothing in the shafts, they could not now use the cart to drive away. We were stuck here.

  Larius was heaving up pieces of broken marble to make chocks under the cart wheels so no one could drag off our blockade.

  “A ram!” I marvelled.

  “We’re well organised,” boasted Aelianus cockily.

  “No swords, though… I didn’t think you knew I’d gone-‘ I “We heard you say ‘