Poseidon's Gold

by Lindsey Davis

  Her mother waived her sarcastic objection with a tilt of the head. Then the Senator’s daughter gave me a smile whose sweetness was as rich as the summer stars.

  The food was good, for winter fare. It was a friendly meal, if you like your friendship of the formal, surface kind. We all knew how to be tolerant. We all knew how to make it plain we had rather a lot to tolerate.

  I had to do something about it. Somehow, for Helena’s sake, I had to scramble into the position of a legitimate son-in-law. Somehow I had to find four hundred thousand sesterces-and I had to find them fast.

  VIII

  Petronius Longus caught up with us that same evening.

  We had been on the verge of turning in. Ma usually went to bed early, because at her age she needed to build up her stamina for the next day of furiously organising the family. She had waited up for our return-one of the restrictive practices that made me prefer to live elsewhere. After dinner at the Senator’s I had chosen to come home, partly to reassure Ma but also because I knew if I stayed, as Helena’s father offered (though her mother was markedly cooler), the Capena Gate house steward would give Helena and me separate rooms and I could not face a night of creeping along strange corridors trying to find my lass. I told Helena she could stay behind in comfort. ‘They’ll give you a softer pillow-‘

  She thumped my shoulder. ‘That’s the pillow I want.’ So we both came back, which made two mothers happy-or as happy as mothers ever like to feel.

  When they saw Petro shambling into the kitchen even Ma and Helena decided to stay up longer. Women took to him. If they had known as much about him as I did they might have been more disapproving; then again, they would probably have blamed me for the wild episodes in his past. For some reason Petro was a man whose indiscretions women excused. For some other reason, I was not.

  He was thirty years old. He arrived dressed in various shapeless brown woollen garments, his usual unobtrusive working uniform, plus winter additions of fur in his boots and a hooded cloak so voluminous he could have been hiding three loose women and their pet duck under it. Stuck through his belt he carried a thick cudgel for encouraging quiet behaviour on the streets; these he supervised with a light, reasonable hand, backed up by well-aimed bodyweight. A twisted headband rumpled the straight brown hair on his broad head. He had a placid mentality he certainly needed when picking through the grime and greed at the low end of Roman society. He looked solid and tough, and good at his job-all of which he was. He was also a deeply sentimental family man-a thoroughly decent type.

  I grinned widely. ‘Now I know I’m really back in Rome!’

  Petronius slowly lowered his large frame on to a bench. His expression was sheepish-presumably because he had a wine amphora under one arm, the usual credential he offered when visiting me.

  ‘You look tired out,’ Helena commented.

  ‘I am.’ He never wasted words. I cracked the wax of his amphora to save him the effort, then Ma produced winecups. He poured. He sloshed the liquor into the beakers with careless desperation, paused briefly to chink his cup on mine, then drank fast. He had trouble written all over him.

  ‘Problems?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing unusual.’ Ma topped him up, then found a loaf and some olives to cosset him with. Petro was another friend of mine who was reckoned to be a cut above what I deserved. He rubbed his forehead wearily. ‘Some tourist who managed to get himself slashed to ribbons by a maniac, or several, in a hired room… I can’t say he should have used the door-bolt, because in that fleapit so much luxury wasn’t available.’

  ‘What was the motive? Robbery?’

  ‘Could be.’ Petro sounded terse.

  In winter the rate of muggings among strangers usually fell. Professional thieves were too busy counting their winnings from the summer season. Actually killing the victim was a rare event. It attracted attention, and was normally unnecessary; there were pickings enough from idiots who came to see Rome, their pouches bursting with spending money, and then stood around the Via Sacra like curly little lambs waiting to be fleeced.

  ‘Any clues?’ I asked, trying to encourage him.

  ‘Not sure. If there are, I don’t like them. They made a disgusting mess. Blood everywhere.’ He fell silent, as if he could not bear to talk about it.

  Helena and Ma came to a mystical decision. They both yawned, patted Petro on the shoulder, ignored me, and made themselves scarce.

  Petronius and I drank some more. The mood relaxed-or I assumed it did. We had known each other a long time. We had been best friends throughout our army careers; those had both been short (we helped each other fake reasons for leaving), but the province we had been allocated to was Britain, during a fairly lively period. Not something to forget.

  ‘So how was the famous German trip, Falco?’

  I told him something about it, though saved the best; his mind was clearly unreceptive to anecdotes. I saw no point in enduring the mishaps of travel and the trials of dealing with foreigners unless I could entertain my friends with them afterwards. ‘Gaul seems as lousy as we remember it.’

  ‘So when did you get back to Rome?’

  ‘Day before yesterday.’

  ‘I must have missed you around-been busy?’

  ‘Nothing special.’

  ‘I was looking for you earlier today.’

  ‘Lenia told me.’

  ‘So where were you?’ Petro had a stolid insistence when he wanted to exert himself.

  ‘I told you-nowhere special!’ I was laughing at him cheerfully. ‘Listen, you curious bastard, this conversation seems to be taking an odd tone. If I was a provincial sightseer you had stopped on the Via Ostiana, I’d be frightened you were going to demand a peek at my docket of citizenship on pain of five hours in your lock up… What’s the game, Petro?’

  ‘I wondered what you were up to this morning.’

  I was still grinning. ‘That sounds as if I need to consider it carefully. Jupiter, I hope I’m not being asked to produce an alibi.’

  ‘Just tell me,’ Petronius insisted.

  ‘Bumming about. What else would I be doing? I’ve just come home after a foreign trip. I need to assert my effervescent presence on the streets of home.’

  ‘Who saw you?’ he asked quietly.

  That was when I first realised the inquisition must be serious.

  ‘What’s up, Petro?’ I heard my own voice drop several tones.

  ‘Just answer the question.’

  ‘There’s no way I’m going to co-operate with a legal officer-any officer, Petro-unless I know why he’s latched on to me.’

  ‘It’s better if you answer first.’

  ‘Oh rot!’

  ‘Not at all!’ Petro was growing heated now. ‘Listen, Falco, you’ve placed me between Scylla and Charybdis-and I’m in a very flimsy boat! I’m trying to help you; that ought to be obvious. Tell me where in Hades you were all morning, and make it good. You need to satisfy Marponius as well as me.’ Marponius was a judge on the murder panel whose aegis included the Aventine. He was an interfering halfwit whom Petro could hardly tolerate; that was usual with officialdom.

  ‘Right!’ Anxiety made me speak angrily. ‘Try this. This evening Helena and I gorged ourselves with luxury at the home of the most excellent Camillus. Presumably His Honour’s word will be acceptable? You know Glaucus; Glaucus is straight. I was in the Forum; I saw my banker and Sattoria, not to mention Famia and Gaius Baebius, but I made sure they didn’t see me, so that’s no help. Perhaps they noticed me skulking behind a pillar, trying to avoid them,’ I added with increased restraint, since Petro was looking at me mournfully.

  ‘Who’s Sattoria?’ he asked, having recognised the other names.

  ‘No one you know. No one I know any longer.’ Not now I had a respectable girlfriend who took a sombre view of my bachelor past. Nice to have somebody bother about you. Nice, but occasionally things grew tense.

  ‘Oh her!’ Petro commented matter-of-factly. Sometimes I wondered about him. He
looked henpecked, but occasionally gave the impression that he led a double life.

  ‘You’re bluffing, you beggar. You’ve no connection with Sattoria… After that I was up at the Palace for an hour or two, so surely even Marponius will say I’m in the clear for that period-‘

  ‘Skip the Palace. I’ve already covered that angle.’ I was amazed. The sneaky bug must have been sleuthing round Rome as tenaciously as a clerk after promotion. ‘I want your whereabouts earlier on.’

  ‘Can’t help you. I was tired out after travelling. Helena and Ma went to clean up my apartment. They left me here in bed. I was asleep, so I wasn’t up to anything, but don’t ask me to prove it-the classic useless excuse… Petro, I can’t stand this! What in the name of the Capitoline Triad is fretting your tiny worried mind?’ Petronius Longus stared at the table. I could tell we had reached the crunch. He looked as lonely as a gold piece in a miser’s pocket. ‘Try this. The corpse I had to look at this morning,’ he informed me in an unsteady voice, ‘was a centurion called Titus Censorinus Macer. He was done in at Flora’s Caupona-and every time I ask if he had upset anybody recently, people rush at me with lurid tales of some blazing row he had with you.’

  IX

  I groaned. Not too loudly; a murder suspect needs to beware of bad acting.

  ‘Lucius Petronius, I can hardly believe I’m hearing this…’ I believed it all too easily. From the moment my brother’s business life had become an issue yet again, I had expected deep trouble on the next throw of the dice. This was the worst yet, however.

  ‘Believe it!’ Petronius advised.

  ‘Oh gods, Petro, I’m standing on a real midden heap of shit. You know Marponius hates informers. Now my name’s written on a tablet in the denouncing jar! Just the chance he needs to interfere with my free movement and slander me at Pincian Hill dinner parties. Still!’ I cheered up. ‘Since you’re the investigating officer, Marponius doesn’t need to know.’

  ‘Wrong, Falco!’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll help you track the killer down.’

  Petro sighed. ‘Marponius knows already. He’s having one of his “social responsibility” fits. Every five minutes he wants me to show him round a brothel or introduce him to a professional gambling cheat. I was with him discussing another case when they turned up to fetch me to Flora’s. Coming along to have a squint at a genuine body was the highlight of the judge’s year. Well,’ he added reminiscently, ‘it was until he actually set eyes on the mess.’

  ‘I get it.’ I had gathered this was a murder that would deeply affect a judge’s shockable mind. ‘Having seen the gore, and thrown up his breakfast on the doorstep of the action, His Honour feels personally involved in the whole damned enquiry? You’d better tell me everything. I suppose all the hangers-on at Flora’s who normally wouldn’t pass the time of day with their own lice, couldn’t wait to talk with the great man?’

  ‘Exactly. Your name took about three seconds to surface. We hadn’t even forced a passage through the throng. I was still trying to get upstairs to inspect the remains.’

  ‘This looks bad.’

  ‘Smart, Falco!’

  I knew Marponius was the impetuous type who would expect the first suspect he heard about to be condemned. Much neater than complicating life with other possibilities. He was probably already drawing up a jury list for my trial in the Basilica. Assuming he reckoned I rated the Basilica.

  ‘So what’s the situation, Petro? I’m a wanted man; Marponius thinks you’re looking for me. Have you found me now, or do I get leeway to search for evidence myself?’

  Petronius Longus gave me the straight look he normally kept for women; it meant he had no intention of being straight. ‘Marponius wants this tied up speedily. I told him I couldn’t find you at your apartment. I may have forgotten to mention I might be seeing you later on here.’

  ‘How much to go on forgetting?’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll manage to persuade me!’ There was nothing corrupt in Petronius. On the other hand, he would reckon any favours he notched up voluntarily ought to be accounted for in kind at a later date.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’ll have to move fast. I can’t keep it up for ever.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘I can probably bluff for a day.’ I thought I would be able to stretch him to three. We were pretty close friends. Besides, Petro hated Marponius too much to give an inch to his requests for speed. Watch captains are elected by the populace; Petronius took his authority from the plebeian electorate.

  That said, he liked the work, he enjoyed his local status, and with a smart wife and three young daughters to keep he needed his public salary. Upsetting a judge would be a bad idea. Not even I could expect that of him; if it came to dilemma-time, I wouldn’t even ask.

  Petronius excused himself; discord always went to his bladder. While he was otherwise occupied I spotted his note tablet lying alongside his cloak on the table. Like everything he owned, it was solid and heavy, four or five reusable waxed boards bound with a criss-cross of leather thongs between two square wooden protectors. I had seen him use it on numerous occasions, unobtrusively scratching details about some luckless suspect, often at the same time as he talked to them. The tablet had a substantial, well-aged look that made it appear reliable. Produced in court, to be read from in his sombre tones, Petro’s memory-jogger had secured many a conviction. I had never expected to be listed there myself among the reprobates. It gave me a feeling I didn’t like.

  I flipped the top cover and found he had been assembling a timetable of my own movements that day. Suppressing my indignation, I inserted the missing events for him in a neat, bitter script.

  X

  When he came back he immediately recaptured his notes. He noticed my additions but said nothing.

  I moved the amphora aside, then set Petro’s winecup well out of his reach.

  ‘Sobriety-time. You’d better go over all you’ve found out so far.’

  I saw an uneasy look on his face. Maybe telling the chief suspect exactly what evidence had been amassed against him struck a wrong note, even when I was the suspect. But habit won. He opened up. ‘All we have is an extremely bloody corpse.’

  ‘When was he done?’

  ‘Marponius thinks last night, but Marponius just likes the idea of unspeakable crime at midnight. It could have been early this morning.’

  ‘It would be!’ The one period for which I had no alibi. ‘I’ll have to dodge Marponius while I try to prove what really happened. Let’s cover every possibility. Any chance of suicide?’

  Petro guffawed. ‘Not with those wounds. Self-infliction can be ruled out. Besides,’ he informed me reasonably, ‘the victim had paid in advance for his room rent.’

  ‘Yes, that would be stupid, if he knew he was depressed! And he was badly hacked, you say? Was some villain trying to prove a point?’

  ‘Could well be. Are you going to suggest what? Or tell me who is trying to make their mark?’

  I had no idea.

  Together we considered alternatives. Censorinus could have picked up a bedmate-of either sex-who had turned spiteful at some point. ‘If so, no one at Flora’s saw the paramour,’ Petro said. ‘And you know Flora’s!’ A curious hovel, as I was remarking earlier.

  ‘Had he been robbed?’

  ‘Probably not. All his kit appeared to be present and correct.’ I made a private note to try and get a look at it some time.

  ‘What about a disappointed debtor?’ Even as I said it, I could hear the false note. Censorinus was collecting debts. Petro stared at me. The details of my quarrel must have whistled all along the Tiber’s southern bank. Petronius certainly knew at least as much as I did about why the soldier had been in Rome, and what he had wanted here.

  ‘I met him a couple of times when I came over to see your mother while you were away. I had already formed the impression he might be leaning on your family for more than a free bed. Would I be right in assuming your wonderful bro
ther was at the back of it?’ I did not reply. ‘With the greatest respect, Marcus Didius,’ Petro began, employing only slight reproach, ‘there do seem to be one or two aspects which you could help clarify!’ He said it as if he were loath to embarrass me. That meant nothing. He was tough; which meant tough on his friends too. If my foolish behaviour made an arm lock or a knee in the groin necessary, Petro would not flinch from it. And he was bigger than me.

  ‘Sorry.’ I forced myself to unwrap the parcel from him. ‘Whatever you want. Yes, there is some problem over a project Festus was involved with. No, I don’t know what it was. Yes, I did try to extract details from Censorinus. No, he wouldn’t tell me. And most certainly, no, I don’t want to be involved if I can help it-but yes, as sure as the little goddess likes pomegranates, I’ll get to the bottom of this mystery rather than let myself be sent to the public strangler for something my fabled brother failed to square!’

  ‘I’m rather assuming,’ said Petronius, smiling slightly, ‘someone else killed the soldier at Flora’s. I presume even you would have had more common sense than to quarrel with him so publically first.’

  ‘True, but with Marponius on your back you’d better keep me on your list of suspects until I’m formally cleared.’ Marponius would agree eventually with Petro’s view of my innocence; he would appropriate Petro’s verdict and claim it as his own. Until that happened life for me could be extremely difficult. ‘If the dead man’s grouse against Festus was legitimate, I might have had a motive for removing him.’

  ‘Everyone who saw you fighting at Flora’s was quick to admit that Censorinus never explained to you what his bugbear was.’

  ‘Good of them! But he did walk part of the way along the sandy track. He was telling me that Festus had owed money to a gang of his old pals for some galley that foundered.’