Poseidon's Gold

by Lindsey Davis

  ‘You were in a difficult position personally,’ Apollonius consoled me.

  ‘Not as bad as his. I should have noticed his hysteria. After he killed the soldier he must have frozen. I’ve seen it before. He just acted as if it had never happened, trying to blot the event right out of his mind. But he was almost begging to be discovered. I should have recognised that he was appealing for my help.’

  ‘There was nothing to be done!’ Petro pointed out harshly. ‘He was a runaway slave, and he had murdered a legionary: nobody could have saved him, Marcus. If he hadn’t taken this action today, he would have been crucified or sent to the arena. No judge could have done otherwise.’

  ‘It was very nearly me who ended up in the dock!’ I answered hollowly.

  ‘Never! He would have stopped it,’ Apollonius broke in. ‘His loyalty to your family was too strong to let you suffer. What your brother had done for him meant everything. He was desperate when he heard they had arrested you. He must have been in anguish, hoping you would clear yourself and yet not discover his own guilt. But from the start his position was hopeless.’

  ‘He seems a very sad character,’ Helena sighed.

  ‘After what he had suffered in Alexandria, his quiet life here was a revelation. That was why he exploded at the thought of losing it.’

  ‘Yet to kill someone!’ protested Helena.

  Again it was Apollonius who answered her: ‘The caupona looks dreadful to you, maybe. But nobody beat or whipped him, or subjected him to worse abuse. He had food and drink. The work was easy and people talked to him like a human being. He had a cat to fondle-even me at the door to look down on. Within this small world at the crossroads, Epimandos had status, dignity and peace.’ From a man in beggar’s rags himself the speech was heartbreaking.

  We all fell silent. Then I had to ask Petronius. ‘What’s your theory about that knife?’

  Helena Justina glanced at me quickly. Petro had an unfathomable expression as he said, ‘Epimandos lied when he claimed he had never seen it. He must have used it often. I have just managed to trace the knife to the caupona,’ he admitted, surprising me.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Leave it alone.’ He sounded embarrassed. He could see I wanted to argue. ‘I am satisfied, Falco!’

  I said quietly, ‘No, we ought to get this sorted out. I think the knife left my mother’s house with my father-‘

  Petro cursed under his breath. ‘Exactly!’ he told me. ‘I know it did. I didn’t want to mention it; you’re such a touchy beggar on some subjects-‘

  ‘What are you saying, Petro?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He was trying to hide something; that was obvious. It was ridiculous. We had solved the murder-yet we seemed to be plunging deeper into mystery. ‘Look, Falco, the knife was always part of the caupona’s equipment. It’s been there ever since the place first opened ten years ago.’ He looked shiftier than ever.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I asked the owner.’

  ‘Flora?’

  ‘Flora,’ said Petronius, as if that ended everything.

  ‘I didn’t think Flora existed.’

  ‘Flora exists.’ Petronius stood up. He was leaving the Valerian.

  ‘How,’ I demanded emphatically, ‘did this Flora acquire the knife if Pa had it?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Petro. ‘I’m the investigating officer, and I know all about the knife.’

  ‘I have a right to know how it got there.’

  ‘Not if I’m happy.’

  ‘Blow you, Petro! I was damned nearly sent to trial because of that implement.’

  ‘Tough,’ he said.

  Petronius Longus could be an absolute bastard when he chose. Official posts go to people’s heads. I told him what I thought of him, but he simply ignored my rage.

  ‘I must go, Falco. I’ll have to advise the owner that the waiter’s dead and the caupona’s empty. That crowd outside is looking for an excuse to break in and smash up the furniture while they help themselves to free wine.’

  ‘We’ll stay there,’ Helena volunteered quietly. ‘Marcus will keep the thieves and looters out until a watchman can be sent.’

  Petro glanced at me for confirmation. ‘I’ll do it,’ I said. ‘I owe Epimandos something.’

  Petronius shrugged and smiled. I did not know the reason, and I was so annoyed with him I did not care.

  LXI

  I told Helena to go home; rebelliously she came with me.

  ‘I don’t need supervision.’

  ‘I disagree!’ she snapped.

  The waiter’s body still lay where we had left it in the main part of the building so we hovered about in the back. Helena marched into the little cubicle Epimandos had slept in, and sat on his bed. I stood in the doorway. I could see she was furious.

  ‘Why do you hate your father so much, Falco?’

  ‘What’s all this about?’

  ‘You can’t hide from me. I do know!’ she rampaged. ‘I understand you, Marcus. I can see what perverted suspicions you were harbouring about who had used your mother’s knife!’

  ‘Petronius was right. Forget the knife.’

  ‘Yes, he’s right-but it took a long argument to convince you. You and your stubborn prejudices-you’re hopeless! I really did think that after Capua and your meetings with Geminus in Rome these past few weeks, you and he had at last reached an accommodation. I wanted to believe you two were friends again,’ she wailed.

  ‘Some things don’t change.’

  ‘Well you don’t, obviously!’ I had not seen Helena so angry for a long time. ‘Marcus, your father loves you!’

  ‘Settle down. He doesn’t want me, or any of the rest of us. Festus was his boy, but that was different. Festus could win anybody over.’

  ‘You are so wrong,’ Helena disagreed miserably. ‘You just won’t see the truth, Marcus. Marriages do fail.’ She knew that; she had been married. ‘If things had been different between your parents, your father would have had just as strong a grip on you and all the others as your mother has today. He stands back-but that doesn’t mean he wants to. He still worries and watches over what you all do-‘

  ‘Believe that if it pleases you. But don’t ask me to alter. I learned to live without him when I had to-and that suits me now.’

  ‘Oh you’re so stubborn! Marcus, this could have been your chance to put things right between you, maybe your only chance…’ Helena rounded on me pleadingly: ‘Listen, do you know why he gave me that bronze table as a gift?’

  ‘Because he likes your spirit and you’re a pretty girl.’

  ‘Oh Marcus! Don’t always be so sour! He took me to see it. He said, “Look at this. I had my eye on it for Marcus, but he’ll never accept it from me”.’

  I still saw no reason to change my own attitude because these two had palled up. ‘Helena, if you have come to an arrangement, that’s charming and I’m delighted you get on so well-but it’s between you and him.’ I did not even object to Helena and Pa manipulating me, if that thrilled them. ‘I don’t want to hear any more.’

  I left her sitting on the waiter’s bed, below the amulet Festus had once given Epimandos. It had not done the waiter much good.

  I stalked away. The main bar, with its sad contents, still repelled me, so I lit another lamp and stomped upstairs.

  I looked in the two small rooms that lay above the kitchen area. They were furnished for thin dwarves with no luggage who might be prepared to spend their free time at Flora’s sitting on rickety beds staring at spiders’ webs.

  Gruesome fascination drew me to the other room again.

  It had been scrubbed and rearranged. The walls had been washed over with a dark red paint, the only colour that would hide what had been underneath. The bed was now below the window, instead of by the door. It had a different blanket. The stool where the soldier’s wine tray had been placed by Epimandos on that fatal night had been changed for a pine box. As a gesture to decor, a large Greek pot with a lively oc
topus design now stood on a mat on the box.

  The pot used to be in the bar downstairs. I remembered it there; it was a fine item. I had always thought that. However, when I went to have a closer look, I noticed that the far-side rim was badly chipped. The pot would not repay mending. All the owner could do with the thing was shove it somewhere and admire the octopus.

  I was thinking like Pa. I always would.

  I lay on the bed gloomily.

  Helena could no longer bear to be at odds with me, so she came upstairs too. Now it was her turn to stand in the doorway. I held out my hand to her.

  ‘Friends?’

  ‘If you like.’ She stayed by the door. Friends we might be, but she still despised my attitude. However, I was not intending to change it; not even for her.

  She looked around, realising this was where the soldier died. I watched her quietly. Women are not supposed to think, but mine could and did, and I liked to watch the process. Helena’s strong face changed imperceptibly as she considered everything here, trying to imagine the last minutes of the soldier’s life, trying to comprehend the waiter’s demented attack. This was no place for her. I would have to take her downstairs again, but too soon a move would offend her.

  I was watching Helena, judging my moment, so the puzzled thought caught me unawares: ‘There’s something wrong about this room.’ I stared about me, wondering what had worried me. ‘The size is odd.’

  I did not need Apollonius to draw me a geometric sketch. As soon as I thought about it, I realised the floor plan here upstairs was much smaller than the ground-floor area. I swung myself upright and went out on to the landing to check. The other two guest rooms, which were so tiny they hardly counted, occupied the space above the kitchen and the waiter’s cubicle. The staircase used up a few more feet. But this eight-foot-square room where Censorinus had died was only about half the size of the caupona’s main room downstairs.

  Behind me Helena had entered the soldier’s room. ‘There’s only one window here.’ She was acutely observant. As soon as I went back to her I understood what she meant. When Petronius and I stood in the street throwing pebbles up, there had been two square openings above our heads. Only one lit this room. ‘There must be another bedroom up here, Marcus-but there’s no door into it.’

  ‘It’s been blocked up,’ I decided. Then a possible reason struck me. ‘Dear gods, Helena, there may be something hidden up here-another body, for instance!’

  ‘Oh really! You always have to dramatise!’ Helena Justina was a sensible young woman. Every informer should have one as his associate. ‘Why should there be a body?’

  Trying to withdraw from the ridicule, I defended myself. ‘Epimandos used to be terrified of people asking questions about these rooms.’ I heard my voice drop, as if I were afraid of being overheard. There was nobody here-or if there was, they had been sealed up for years. I was remembering a conversation I must have misconstrued at the time. ‘There is something here, Helena. I once joked about hidden secrets and Epimandos nearly had a fit.’

  ‘Something hidden by him?’

  ‘No.’ I was drowning in a familiar sense of the inevitable. ‘Someone else. But someone Epimandos respected enough to keep the secret-‘

  ‘Festus!’ she exclaimed quietly. ‘Festus hid something here that he did not tell even you about-‘

  ‘Ah well. Not trusted, apparently.’

  Not for the first time I fought off a wild pang of jealousy as I faced the fact that Festus and I had never been as close as I had convinced myself. Maybe nobody had known him properly. Maybe even our father only touched him in passing. Not even Pa knew about this hiding-place, I was sure of that.

  But now I knew. And I was going to find whatever my brother had left in it.

  LXII

  I ran downstairs, looking for tools. As I went, I checked again the layout of the small landing. If there was indeed another room, it had never been accessible from the corridor; the stairs were in the way where its door ought to be.

  Bringing a cleaver and a meat-hammer from the kitchen, I ran back. I felt mad-eyed, like a butcher who had run amok in the August heat. ‘People must have entered through this room here…’ In Rome, that was common. Thousands of folk reached their bedrooms through at least one other living area, sometimes a whole string of them. Ours was not a culture that valued domestic privacy.

  Feeling the wall with my open hand, I tried to forget how it had been splashed with the soldier’s blood. The construction was rough lath and plaster, so rough it could have been my brother-in-law Mico’s work. Maybe it was. Now I remember Mico telling me that Festus had arranged work for him… But I doubted whether Mico had ever seen what was bricked up in the missing room. Somebody else must have filled in the doorway secretly-almost certainly someone I knew.

  ‘Festus!’ I muttered. Festus, on his last night in Rome… Festus, rolling away from Lenia’s laundry in the dead of night, saying he had a job to do.

  That must have been why he wanted me; he needed my help with the heavy work. Now I was here without him, and about to undo his labours. It gave me an odd feeling, which was not entirely affectionate.

  A few inches from the cloak hook I found a change in the surface. I walked the width of the wall, tapping it with a knuckle. Sure enough, the sound altered, as if I was passing a hollow area, slightly more than two feet wide. It could have been a doorway once.

  ‘Marcus, what are you going to do?’

  ‘Take a risk.’ Demolition always worries me. The caupona was so badly built, one wrong move could bring the whole place crashing down. Doorways are strong, I told myself. I bounced on my heels, testing the floor, but it felt safe enough. I just hoped the roof stayed up.

  I felt for a crack, applied the cleaver like a chisel, and tapped it gently with the meat-hammer. Plaster shattered and dropped to the floor, but I had not been fierce enough. I had to use more force, though I was trying to be neat. I did not want to crash into the hidden room in a great shower of rubble. What was there might be delicate.

  By pulling off the upper skim of plaster, I managed to trace the edge of the lintel and frame. The doorway had been blocked with fireclay bricks. The infill had been poorly done, hurriedly no doubt. The mortar was a weak mix, most of which crumbled easily. Starting from near the top, I tried to remove the bricks. It was dusty work. After much effort I freed one, then lifted out more, bringing them towards me, one at a time. Helena helped pile them to the side.

  There certainly was another room. It had a window, matching the one where we were, but was pitch-black, unlit and filling with dust. Peering through the hole, I could make out nothing. Patiently I cleared a space in the old doorway that would be wide enough and tall enough to step through.

  I stood back, recovering, while the dust settled a little. Helena hugged my damp shoulders, waiting quietly for me to act. Covered with dirt, I grinned at her excitedly.

  I took the pottery lamp. Holding it ahead of me, I squeezed an arm through the narrow gap and stepped sideways into the tomblike stillness of the next room.

  I had half hoped to find it full of treasure. It was empty, apart from its single occupant. As I pulled my shoulders through the gap and straightened up, I met the man’s eyes. He was standing by the wall exactly opposite, and staring straight at me.

  LXIII

  ‘Oh Jupiter!’

  He was not a man. He was a god. The lord of all the other gods, unmistakably.

  Five hundred years ago a sculptor with divine talent had breathed life into a massive marble block, creating this. The sculptor who was later to ornament the Parthenon had, in the days before his greatest fame, made for some small anonymous island temple a Zeus that must have excelled all expectations. Five hundred years later, a gang of cheap priests had sold it off to my brother. Now it stood here.

  It must have been an awesome task hauling this upstairs. Some of the tackle my brother had used lay abandoned in a corner. I wondered if Epimandos had helped him. Probably.

&
nbsp; Helena had ventured into the room after me. Clutching my arm, she gasped, then stood with me staring in rapture.

  ‘Nice piece!’ I whispered, aping Geminus.

  Helena had learned the patter: ‘Hmm! Rather large for domestic consumption, but it does have possibilities…’

  Zeus, naked and heavily bearded, surveyed us with nobility and calm. His right arm was raised in the act of hurling a thunderbolt. Set on a pedestal in the darkened inner sanctum of some high Ionic temple, he would have been astonishing. Here, in the silent gloom of my brother’s abandoned glory hole, he quelled even me.

  We were still standing there, lost in admiration, when I heard noises.

  Guilt and panic struck us both. Somebody had come into the caupona below us. We became aware of furtive movements in the kitchen area, then feet approaching up the stairs. Someone looked into the soldier’s room, saw the mess and exclaimed. I dragged my attention from the statue. We were trapped. I was trying to decide whether there was more to be gained by extinguishing the lamp or keeping it, when another light was thrust through the gap in the brickwork, with an arm already following.

  The arm wriggled frantically, as a broad shoulder jammed in the narrow space. Someone cursed, in a voice I recognised. The next minute loose bricks tumbled inward as a sturdy figure forced its passage, and my father burst through into the hiding-place.

  He looked at us. He looked at the Zeus.

  He said, as if I had just produced a bag of apples, ‘I see you’ve found it then!’

  LXIV

  His eyes devoured the Phidias.

  I asked quietly, ‘What are you doing here?’ Pa let out a small groan of ecstasy, ignoring my question as he lost himself in admiration of the Zeus. ‘Did you know this was here, Pa?’

  For an instant Geminus blinked unreliably. But he cannot have known for much longer than I had, or the statue would not have been left here. He must have been starting to guess as he came up the stairs. I tried not to believe he had run into the caupona at top speed, intent on breaking down the wall himself.