Scandal Takes a Holiday mdf-16

by Lindsey Davis

  As I left the Aquarius I gave the bar-girl a sample of imperial coinage and my best smile. She knew I had not ordered any food or drink. So she accepted the money and returned the smile delightfully – then when I asked if she knew the name of the visitor in the dirty green robe who had come to see Cratidas, she told me. He was called Lygon. I had heard that name before. When I hit the street outside he was long gone, but that did not bother me. There was no need for me to tail him home. I already knew where Lygon lived – or at least, where he had lived until recently.

  XXX

  When I consulted Petronius, I thought he looked shifty. I had left a message at the station house; he called in at our apartment late that afternoon. I told him how I had identified Lygon, the same Lygon, I was sure, who had been named to us as the boyfriend of Pullia, young Zeno's mother. I had decided the Cilicians had placed her in the gatehouse room where we found her unconscious so that when they took a victim, Pullia could be their jailer until a ransom was paid.

  'Apparently the women seem confused after their ordeal. Brunnus thinks that while they are being held, they are drugged. Remember how the boy said to us, 'Uncle' Lygon had once told him that if anyone didn't wake up, the vigiles would want to know?'

  'How do you know what Brunnus thinks?' Petronius demanded. I feigned deafness.

  'Zeno must have misunderstood what Lygon meant. Lygon was talking about the risk of being hunted down for murder, if any victims were accidentally given an overdose. In fact, Pullia may have overdosed herself instead. That time the boy took us to see his mother, she wasn't drunk, as we thought. I bet she got bored and sampled the drugs herself.'

  'So by chance, we stumbled on the racket, way back!' Petronius sucked his teeth in annoyance.

  'Missing it doesn't matter. Now we can break the ring.'

  'I'd like to hold back on that, Marcus. We need to gather evidence.'

  'When did evidence feature in a vigiles arrest?' I scoffed.

  'Don't be like that! We need to be certain.'

  Prevarication had never been Petro's style. I guessed his motive, however. 'We are waiting until the Fourth Cohort arrives in Ostia?'

  'End of the week,' Petronius said briskly, unaware that Rubella had already told me. I mentioned that Rubella might accompany the detachment. I had to explain why. Petronius Longus told me what he thought of me. His dissertation was not pretty. Eager for action now, we reached an accommodation. 'I'll get you for this, Falco!'

  'Fine. In the meantime, old pal, what's our plan?'

  'We can take turns to watch the old gatehouse. We'll establish whether Lygon and the woman are still living there.'

  'It's just around the corner from where I saw Lygon with Cratidas.'

  'Yes, the gatehouse is ideally positioned.' Petro had quickly thought it out. 'It's near the river, when they snatch victims from Portus. It's also centrally located if they take them in Ostia, and good for returning the women after ransom.'

  'I thought our involvement that time would put them off the place.'

  'Pullia may never have owned up to the others about what happened. Even if she did, once the gang saw we were not suspicious of her, why sacrifice a good location? So we can observe the place until the next time they bring a victim back there. Then it's arrest time.' As always when I had made a neat connection, I found myself wanting to test it.

  'Pullia and the boy come from somewhere called Soli. Remember, Maia found that out. Do we know if this Soli is in Cilicia?' Helena Justina was reading, so quietly we had forgotten she was there. Now she looked up from the scroll.

  'Yes,' she said, as if she were already part of our conversation.'Soli used to be on the Cilician coast.'

  'Used to be?' I was sceptical. 'What happened? Did the town sprout wings and fly off into the puffy clouds? Sounds like an abstruse metaphor, in an Athenian satire.' Petronius was grinning, too much, I thought. I was better acquainted with Helena's research skills. I gave her a look. Her dark eyes betrayed a modest triumph. Roman matrons do not gloat. Particularly over their spouses, of course.

  'I brought a map of the Empire with me, Marcus.'

  'Of course you did,' I answered. 'We want to be equipped, if one of our very advanced children starts asking cute questions about remote provinces.'

  'I expect,' Petronius mocked us gravely, 'Julia Junilla Laeitana can already recite all the rivers in Germania.'

  'Germania Ulterior and Inferior,' I assured him. 'Rhenus and all its tributaries, in order, north to south.'

  'Should be south to north, Falco. Go with the flow, man.'

  'I know, but I was holding the map upside down when I taught her. We are working on Germania Libera, but the little sweetheart is frightened by the thought of untamed barbarians.' Julia was three; she still had problems reciting all her own names. I had been rather carried away when naming my firstborn. Helena waited quietly for Petro and me to stop fooling.

  'I think you will like this; it fits your theories. Soli was officially renamed a hundred years ago.' She lifted her right hand, a characteristic gesture, freeing up the group of bracelets she wore on her forearm. They tinkled against one another as she twisted her wrist, unconscious of the movement. 'Soli, you crazy pair of jesters, is now called Pompeiopolis. Now, Marcus, isn't that where your old pirate comes from too?' We took it in, then both graciously applauded her. Helena had just provided our first link between the kidnappers and Damagoras.

  Inspired, Petronius and I took turns at watching the gatehouse.

  'You'll have to be careful,' I warned him. 'What if the Soli group have already noticed you? You only live about two doors down. You've been sauntering right past their place almost every day.'

  'I'll take the night watch then,' he volunteered. As a father of small children, that suited me. I could be telling bedtime stories, while Petro endured the drunks and caterwauling whores.

  We started straight away, and observed the place for the rest of the week. Lygon, a relaxed lover with a callous attitude, hardly ever bothered to visit his drab ladyfriend, though I spotted him once and Petro reported another sighting two nights later. Pullia was always there. My worst problem was avoiding her boy, the seven-year-old Zeno. He played in the street, looking bored. He had no toys, but threw stones, stared at passers-by, and kicked his sandals on the kerbstones. Pullia rarely went out, but sometimes she sent him on errands; at mealtimes she would call him indoors, shouting his name abrasively. He was no worse treated than some of my elder sisters' children, but his way of life meant there was a strong chance he would notice one of us, while we were lurking across the street on observation. He seemed an intelligent child, who would probably remember us. Someone did eventually spot me, though the way it happened was unexpected.

  It was my watch. Helena, with Favonia in her arms, was just bringing me a lunch basket. I had stationed myself almost opposite the old gatehouse. There was an empty block, perhaps earmarked to be an overflow forum. Sometimes a mad old woman brought crumbs to feed the birds, but they were a standoffish flock and she shuffled around keeping well away from me. There were two houses on the other side of the street where the occupants kept looking out as if they thought I was a prospective burglar. At least when they saw Helena with me, they could comfort themselves that I must just be dawdling in the hope of an adulterous liaison. It was a good excuse for us to cuddle in public, always a cheap thrill.

  Meanwhile Sosia Favonia practised toddling. The Ostians were not great humorists and disapproved of us canoodling. Fortunately our curly-haired child looked so sweet in her clean white tunic and tiny bead necklace, our behaviour was soon overlooked.

  We stopped being lewd and passed ourselves off as proud parents parading their infant. I did not believe in using my children as props in a disguise. My mother would have been furious. Helena's mother would have seized Favonia and sought sanctuary in the nearest temple. In my days as a lone informer, I had had other methods. Here, I would have sat against a pillar, huddled in dirty rags, except that Petronius ha
d bagged this role of down-and-out for his observations at night. I had tried pretending to be an artist, but when I sat on a stool drawing townscapes in my note-tablet, the inevitable group of gawpers assembled behind me. They made it clear my sketching was awful. Several advised me to give up and get a proper job. It was not a situation where I could answer that I already had one, and ask if they knew Diocles.

  In the end, I assembled ropes and poles, with a bucket and some sponges, set up a barrier against the exterior of Privatus' house, which lay on one side of the open area, donned a one-armed unbelted tunic, and pretended to clean the stonework. That would be accepted by everyone as an endless job, and one where I, as the useless workman, was bound to be a slacker. I was safe then so long as Privatus himself never came around, demanding to know who gave me instructions to ruin the patina of his building. I was still lazing there in my role as a renovator when Helena brought the lunch basket. To observe the gatehouse opposite, I had had to plant myself right on the street line.

  Down the Decumanus Maximus came all the day's busy traffic. Plenty of carts and donkeys were entering the town, while the usual slow build-up accumulated in the other direction, all heading out to the city with their goods that evening. Then driving against them, rattling in from Rome and causing a fine drama, came a driver with no sense of social timing. Cursing him, the working teams who were trying to go the other way all slowed up and banged against each other. He was flash trash. In a bright crimson outfit, thirties, louche-looking, proud of his luxuriant hair, and wearing pounds of gold, he cut an expensive dash. He had a girl with him. Of course her admiring presence made him whip up his horses, there were two, clearly excellent and well matched in colour – inevitably glossy black.

  In case anyone failed to notice them coming, they had bells on their harnesses. They were pulling the latest model in chariots for show offs. A garish Medusa covered the front, with pseudo-Greek hoplites all around the sides, whose oversized helmets and long phallic spears were apparently laid on in real gold leaf. The equipage must have been a special order, and its salesman was probably sunning himself in Neapolis on his commission. The girlie was screaming with glee. When she saw us, she could not help waving wildly, even though she had to cling on tight as her lover swerved from side to side, causing as much havoc as he could. She wanted us to know how proud she was to be tearing along through Ostia with this wondrous man. Her hero loved her. He had come to fetch her. She was absolutely radiant at being with him. He must be Theopompus. The passenger he was so busy impressing was Posidonius' daughter, Rhodope.

  XXXI

  They did not stop. That was just as well. Rhodope might be ecstatic, but Helena and I saw it differently.

  'Oh Juno! She looks in her element. Marcus, her poor father!'

  'I should have warned him to keep a guard on her.'

  'If she was determined to run off, she would have escaped somehow.'

  'You're the expert on young girls with dreams.' I had always had the impression that Helena Justina, a shy and reserved young woman, had nonetheless led a wild imaginative life before I met her. She never confirmed it.

  'Oh, I was scrupulously sensible, until I met that informer in Britain. The dark, dangerous one with that look in his eyes and the way with words… You have gone quiet, darling.' She always understood me. I was smitten with fear about this adventure. Among the more mature female prisoners who were usually taken, Rhodope must have been a one-off. When he bedded her, however, Theopompus could never have been serious. Afterwards, we had been sure that only heartache awaited the besotted creature. Rhodope was not bad looking – but not good looking either. From what we had seen, she was a pale little character, completely inexperienced. She lacked the fire to ensnare a man of action, and yet she had too many romantic expectations to be suitable for the hard life led ashore by the worn-out womenfolk of pirates. The fact that Theopompus had gone back for the girl seemed out of character.

  'She offers easy pickings, though.'

  'Yes. She was young, an easy lay who would not argue, – making it awkward for her father to pursue a seducer afterwards.'

  'I meant, she is the only child of a rich and loving widower,' Helena remarked astutely. 'Theopompus can bleed Posidonius dry. The father knows it; I saw the dread in his expression when we talked to him. It is not just that his daughter has lost her virginity and is unlikely to agree to a good marriage while she's pining.'

  'No, you are right. Posidonius has paid heavily to get her back once – and even if Theoponipus returns her to him this time, it is bound to involve cost.'

  'The father is helpless, Marcus; he knows the girl is making a horrible mistake. If Theopompus is a real villain, he will string Rhodope along, maybe even marry her, then expect her papa to pay out a permanent retainer to save her being hurt.'

  'Or worse.'

  'Or worse,' agreed Helena, shuddering. After a moment I confessed my real anxiety.

  'I just hope Theopompus has not picked her up because Damagoras told him to.'

  'You think that would be your fault.' Helena loved me, but was an unsparing critic.

  'Admitted. I am scared that Damagoras was annoyed when he found out – from me – that Rhodope had named Theopompus. The old villain may want her put out of the way.'

  'Want her killed, you mean?'

  'Let's hope not. Theopompus may just have been told to bring her into the clan where they can keep her quiet.' Helena bent to Favonia, who was dragging at her skirts. Holding our daughter on her hip, she gave me a long look.

  'Can't we believe the warm-hearted Damagoras has allowed a new tryst because he likes to see love triumph over adversity?'

  'What adversity?' I scoffed.

  'All right. A silly wretch has thrown herself at a lout who wastes cash on garish transport.'

  'Helena, she is rich and ridiculous, but she's up against worse than she knows. And I don't just mean she's in danger of crying her eyes out when her cupid dumps her.' Helena sighed.

  'You must find her, Marcus. Go and see Petronius. At least tell her father where she is.'

  That was my intention. I wanted to hear whether Posidonius already knew the whereabouts of the eloping couple. If he had been informed of their plans by Theopompus, then I could relax. That meant Theopompus was holding the girl now in order to rake off more of her father's fortune. The father had his troubles and for him they might be long-term ones, but at least the girl would stay alive. Since the contractor's house stood right alongside where I had been on watch, I abandoned my position, and rushed to see if Petronius was at home.

  'Oh look; now we have the whole set of dice!' Maia greeted me. I took it for affection. She let me kiss her cheek.

  'Who's here?'

  'Roll yourself into the second courtyard and you'll see.'

  Petronius was talking to Marcus Rubella. They looked at ease, reaching up for grapes from a pergola and speaking in quiet voices. The tribune must be so intrigued by what I had told him of events at Ostia, he had come a day in advance of the rest of his detachment. As men talking together professionally about their unit, he and Petro both looked annoyed at seeing me.

  'Sorry to interrupt.' They had the seats. Petro was in a woven chair that Maia normally used; her wool basket sat on the ground at his feet. Rubella had sprawled on a marble bench, with one leg along the full length of the seat. He did not move up. I stood. I was too impatient to wrangle about his manners, and merely told my tale.

  'I already knew the girl, Rhodope, was missing.' Rubella stayed calm. 'The father came bellyaching at the patrol house. Relax, Falco. We are on to it.'

  'Well I've told you she is in Ostia. No need to thank me,' I sneered. He did not blink.

  'That's a bummer.' Petronius was more forthcoming. He even pulled out a cushion from behind him and tossed it to me so I could sit on a low wall. 'She's put the whole operation at risk.' So it was an operation' now, was it? Rubella in charge, and even Petronius Longus following his chiefs orders. I knew where that placed
me.

  'The charioteer didn't stop at the gatehouse, Falco?'

  'Theopompus never looked at the place. That may have been to conceal the hideout – or he may just have been enjoying himself too much with his crazy driving.'

  'And you believe this girl is at risk?' Rubella's tone was ponderous; he reminded me of Gaius Baebius. When I spelled out my fears that Damagoras would eliminate Rhodope, the tribune's interest was cursory.

  'There has been no direct threat to her?'

  'No, there has been no threat. But what villain issues a statement of intent when he is about to snuff out a witness?' I knew what Rubella would say. Even Petronius would support him.

  'We can keep a watching brief on the girl. But we can't go in and fetch her. There is too much at stake,' warned Rubella bluntly. 'Until we identify the others and position ourselves for a swoop, Rhodope cannot be my priority.'

  Petronius Longus then gave me the fixed stare treatment. 'I know what you're thinking, Falco. Don't do it!' Rubella also jumped on me.

  'Falco, I don't want you carrying out an independent mission. Leave the girl and her boyfriend strictly alone from now on, do you hear?'

  'We'll do the drama.' Petro reinforced his words.

  'So what about the watch on the gatehouse?' I demanded.

  'Leave that to us,' said Rubella. I stood up.

  'Well thanks, both of you. I would like to say that if the girl dies, her blood is on your hands. Unfortunately, I can't let myself off so lightly. If she dies it will be my fault – my fault for having foolishly trusted the vigiles to defend law and order.'

  'We are accountable to the whole community.' Rubella's tone was so bland I could have pushed his teeth down his throat.

  'I don't want to see the girl harmed, I don't want to explain that to her father.'

  'You know the score, Marcus,' Petronius said.

  'She must take her chance.' It was tough. That's the vigiles, for you. Rubella was making statements. 'I want to round up the entire gang and put a stop to this kidnapping, once and for all.'