Saturnalia (15 page)

XXVIII

It was time to regroup.

Later that night Helena had a message from her father, whose interview with Vespasian had passed off in a friendly spirit. The Emperor had told him openly where his son was, and said he would be allowed to see the young prisoner. Decimus intended to visit Anacrites' house tomorrow. 'Mother can go too.'

'What about Claudia?'

'Papa and Vespasian agreed it will be better if she stays away. They don't want Claudia losing her temper with Quintus and smashing up the Spy's statue collection.'

'Anacrites collects art?'

'Cornered a niche market, apparently. Vespasian hasn't seen any, but he thinks it is rather saucy.'

'Pornography?'

'Erotic nudes, you are supposed to say, Marcus.'

'That's just typical. I bet Anacrites hasn't mentioned his rude collection to my mother!' I could tell Ma, but she would refuse to believe me.

It seemed that Vespasian was taking a benign view of the fact that in earlier years the senator's brother had been a political plotter. This dangerous past history could make a suspicious emperor regard all of the Camilli darkly. (Not only the Emperor: his advisers too. Had I not known the family well, I would myself certainly have judged them risky in the present situation.) So far, they were surviving. Even so, it might not last. I knew enough to be wary of politicians--even jolly old coves like Vespasian.

Perhaps lover-reacted, but I was afraid Justinus' connection with Veleda would cast doubts on his loyalty to Rome. That could finally crush his family. Justinus, his future once so promising after our original German escapade, was bound to be blacklisted if he showed emotional ties to the priestess. His father and brother would then be coloured politically too. None of them could expect any further social advancement.

Their disgrace might even affect me, now I was openly living with Justinus' sister. But I had been born a plebeian. I was so used to being at the bottom of the middenheap, few scandals could touch me. There were ways out of trouble for me, in any case. My work--undercover jobs that the Emperor would always need--could bleach out any grime that tried to stick to me.

Now it was urgent that I find Veleda. I wanted the kudos of beating Anacrites. Out of fuendship to the Camillus family, I also wanted to show Vespasian and Titus that I was energetically assisting the state. That might just help my in-laws' position.

I had to establish whether or not the priestess had killed Gratianus Scaeva. Upon that would depend how I handled the fleeing invalid if I ever traced her. I decided to go back over the murder. The incident had led to Veleda's flight; I wanted to know much more about it.

So next morning I had another lie-in, this time planning action with Helena. It might have been a romantic occasion, but our children had managed to prise the bedroom door open, so we had two heavy toddlers jumping all over us. When the dog put her paws on the edge of the coverlet and began licking my face, I got up.

I scribbled a to-do list, which ran:

Ganna (Ma)
Zosime
Victor + Pa
Senator (lunch fixed up by Helena)
Quadrumatus house
Petro?

If I could work through that lot in one day, I would be proud of myself

In our discussions, Helena never asked me to devise a way to set her brother free. She probably knew I thought it best if Justinus was held securely until the priestess was found. In fact, none of the Camillus family at any point suggested a rescue.

That does not mean the idea never occurred to me.

This morning, I would have the luxury of interviewing in my own home. For once, I had helpers. I sent Clemens and a couple of his lads to fetch Zosime, from the Temple of iEsculapius, and also to bring in Victor, the vigiles nark from the Saepta Julia who had seen Justinus captured by the Praetorians. I told Clemens I wanted to see my father too, but he was so nosy that when he saw Victor being gathered up, he would race along to our house of his own accord.

While some legionaries--humbled by their failure to stick with me yesterday--organised those errands, Helena took a pair of the spares out for provisions. Carrying my daughter Julia, I hopped up the Hill to my mother's house.

Ma was slapping dough around in a cloud of flour, in company with Aristagoras, her neighbour. Despite his age, the papery swain was agile on his walking sticks. She brushed aside his adulation but let him into her apartment sometimes and gave him a panfried sardine to reward his faithfulness. On my arrival she always sent him packing.

'My son's here! I'll have to ask you to go.' There was no need to shelter behind me so primly but I knew better than to interfere with my mother's complicated reasoning. Aristagoras never bore me a grudge; he tottered off, with fish sauce all down his tunic. Ma's sunny social glance hardened. 'What do you want, Marcus?'

'I have brought this dear child to see her grandmama.'

'Don't expect Julia to soften me up!'

'No, Ma.' She was wrong. It never failed. Every informer should maintain a cute infant, to help him interview intractable old dames.

I hoped that Anacrites might have said more to Ma about holding Justinus, but the aggravating swine had not. I just brought down a lecture about how sad it was that the poor Spy, who had no family, would be all on his own at Saturnalia. Fortunately, Mother was sidetracked; she had learned what the girls were plotting about her gift of eye treatment.

'And what do you think?' I asked cautiously.

'I'm not having it! I don't want to be cut.'

'He'll just use a kind of needle. They gently poke the scales aside.' Ma shuddered, with high drama.

I could have tried to persuade her, but I chickened out. My sisters had thought this up; they could deal with the obstinacy.

'What do
you
think?' Ma demanded unexpectedly, peering at me. 'It's a good idea, Ma.'

She sniffed. Still, she hated being hampered in her active, scheming life. Perhaps she would accept the operation. If it went wrong, she would blame me. She always enjoyed that.

I changed the subject, asking after the young girl I had left in her charge. Ganna had been hidden away in the back room when Aristagoras came and was still there, so I had the chance to ask Ma in private how she was getting on with the acolyte. 'I'm knocking her into shape.' Surprise!

'You keep her in?'

'Except when we make a little trip together to a market or temple.' 'Has she said anything?'

'She fooled you plenty. There's a lot she's holding back.'

I said I thought that might be the situation, which was why I had come to interrogate Ganna now that I knew more about my case. Ma sniffed again, grabbed little Julia, and sent me in to the girl.

Veleda's acolyte looked pale and wary--perhaps from putting up with Ma, though I held back my sympathy.

Fair hair isn't everything. By daylight, I found Ganna too young and unformed to be attractive. I didn't trust her either. I must be growing old. When women gave me lies, I no longer found it exciting. I had no time or energy for game-playing of that sort. There were better games to play with somebody straightforward who was close to you. I wanted witnesses to give up their information in a pleasant voice and a direct manner, pausing at suitable moments to help me take down notes. Of course there was no chance of that.

As a neutral lead-in, I asked Ganna about any jewellery or other financial resources Veleda had. We discussed rings and necklaces, while I quietly wrote details on my note-tablet.

Without looking up, I said, 'She went straight to Zosime, but I imagine you know that, Ganna.' Then I did glance at her. Ganna twisted her hands, pretending not to understand. 'I assume there was a plan.' I kept it conversational. 'What I want from you now, please, is how did she organise her escape from the Quadrumatus house?'

'I told you, Falco--'

'You told me a load of tosh.' We were sitting in my mother's bedroom; I found it odd. In this familiar scene, with Ma's narrow bed, woollen floor rug, and the battered basket-weave chair where she sometimes nodded off in the midst of deep thoughts, I could barely bring myself to exercise tough tactics on the visitor. 'Let's be honest now, shall we? Otherwise, I shall hand you over to the Praetorian Guard. They will extract the details very quickly, believe me'.

'That man who was here the other night is with them?' Ganna demanded looking nervous.

'Anacrites? Yes. Obviously, he came because he suspects something.' Ma would never have explained that Anacrites was simply her old lodger. She liked being mysterious. 'I ask polite questions; he prefers torture.'

The young girl let out a wild, brave cry: 'I am not afraid of torture!' 'Then you are extremely foolish.' I made it matter-of-fact. Afterwards I sat and waited until terror eroded her fragile bravery.

By the time I left, I knew how the first part of the escape had been worked. An old gambit: Veleda hid in a small cart, which called daily to pick up laundry. The intention had been that Ganna would escape too. When the commotion over Scaeva's death erupted, the two women happened to be in different places in the house. Ganna said she assumed Veleda had seized her chance and hopped into the laundry cart while panic raged.

'She feared the worst? Why would she think the murder affected her?' I asked, though I half guessed the answer.

'Because of the severed head in the pool.'

'How do you know she saw it?'

Ganna looked straight at me. 'We had heard a commotion--screams and people running. Veleda went to see what had happened. She must have walked through the atrium. If she saw the young man's head, she would know at once this would be blamed on her.'

'Her reaction does seem plausible--now you have placed her in the vicinity of the crime!' Ganna was not used to interrogation; I could see she was panicking. 'From the way you spoke--' I made it nasty 'I could suspect you know all this for certain. So you must have seen Veleda, and discussed things, since she left the Quadrumatus house.' 'That's wrong, Falco.'

I wondered. I had never been a man who assumed all foreigners were deceitful, and their women the worst. Although plenty of provincials had tricked me, or tried to, I liked to believe other nations--taught by us--were honest and decent in their dealings. I could even pretend that outsiders beyond the Empire had their own code of ethics, a code which compared well with ours. Well, I could believe that on a good day.

Yet when Ganna gave her answers, I thought she was lying--and she was not very good at it. My work made me cynical. Plenty of people had told me tall stories, many while giving me earnest eye contact. I knew the signs.

When I first visited the Quadrumatus villa, I had inspected the remote quarters Veleda and Ganna had shared. Their rooms were a long distance from the entrance and atrium. In that sprawling house,

I doubted the two women would have heard what was happening far away in the main hallway when the murder was discovered. Even if they had, if they were frightened of the tumult, I reckoned they would have gone to investigate together. So either Ganna had then been left behind at the house deliberately--or Veleda had gone to the atrium alone. She might even have been there before the murder happened.

Why could that be? If she was visiting Gratianus Scaeva, as he relaxed on a couch in the elegant salon, with his flautist expected at any moment to entertain him with delicate music, did Scaeva know she was coming? Did they have an assignation? And if so, did the tryst go wrong? Was I to believe, after all, that Veleda did kill him?

In a house so stuffed with servants, it was impossible that nothing had been witnessed. I must have been told lies at the house too. I was starting to think that whoever could have given evidence had been silenced, presumably on orders from Quadrumatus. My planned return to the villa this afternoon was overdue.

XXIX

Victor, who acted as the Seventh Cohort's eyes in the Saepta Julia, was older than I had expected. I had thought he would be some snitch from civilian life, a double-dealing waiter or a down-at-heel clerk, not a professional. He was a pensioned-off vigiles member, bent by his early life as a slave and calloused by six hard years of fire-fighting afterwards. Thin and dismal, he was nevertheless sharpened by the training he had received. I felt his evidence would be reliable. Unfortunately, he had little to give.

He surrendered the purse Justinus had dropped when he was arrested. It contained very little money. Possibly Victor himself had raided it; I did not ask. More likely, Pa's price for Claudia's present that morning had cleaned the young man out. The present was still there: a pair of ear-rings, silver, winged figures with hairy goat legs. I would never have bought them for Helena.

Almost as soon as I sent Victor packing, Pa turned up. 'Greetings, double-dealing parent! These the baubles you sold to Quintus?'

He looked proud. 'Nice?'

'Horrible. '

'I've got a better pair--bezel-set garnets with pendant gold tassels. Want first refusal?' I liked the sound of those but even though I needed to give Helena something at Saturnalia, I declined. 'First refusal' probably meant several prospective buyers had already said no for some very good reason.

'I won't ask what exorbitant payment you screwed out of Just in us.' 'Ancient figures are at a premium. Very fashionable.'

'Who wants a leering satyr nuzzling his lover's neck? This one has no hook. How is Claudia supposed to wear it?'

'Must have slipped my attention... Justinus can get that fixed, no trouble. '

I wanted my father to co-operate, so I bit back my scorn. Instead I told him about Veleda's jewellery, gave him descriptive notes based on what Ganna said, and asked him to organise his colleagues at the Saepta to keep a lookout. 'If a blonde woman with a nasty attitude offers any of this stuff around, just keep her there and fetch me quick.' 'Will I fancy her?'

'She won't fancy you. Bring this off and there's money in it.' 'I like that!' grinned Pa.

He dawdled, gawping, when Clemens brought Zosime in, but as soon as Pa heard she nursed sick slaves on Tiber Island he lost interest. Anyway, the medico was not the kind of bawdy, blowzy barmaid he liked to grapple. She was sixty, serious, and scrutinised my departing parent sadly, as if rascals were a well-known breed to her. But when Pa shamelessly asked about his haemorrhoids, she offered to recommend a doctor. 'You can have them squidged.'

'Sounds good!'

'Inspect the surgical instrument before you decide, Didius Favonius!' Over-confident as ever, Pa looked nonchalant.

'Painful?' I asked hopefully--while noticing that Zosime had a blunt sense of humour and had remembered Pa's name after I briefly introduced him. I had another good witness here--if she was willing to give.

'It's the same tool that vets use to castrate horses, in my opinion.'

Pa blenched. When he left in a hurry, Zosime sat down, but kept her cloak folded in her arms as if she did not anticipate a long stay either. Skinny and underweight, she had small hands with elderly fingers. Her face was sharp, inquisitive, patient. Thick and healthy grey hair was centrally parted on top of her head and then pulled into a clump on the back of her neck. She wore a plain gown, cord belt, openwork shoes of a workaday fashion. No jewellery. Like many ex-slaves, particularly women, who subsequently make a life for themselves, she had a contained yet competent manner. She did not push herself forward, but nor did she give way to anyone.

I reminded her of her previous interview with Helena Justina.

Then I ran through what she had told Helena about visiting Veleda, diagnosing a need for rest, and being dissuaded from further visits to the house. 'I assume you treated her further when she came to the temple?'

It was a try-on. Zosime gazed at me. 'Who told you that?' 'Well,
you
didn't, that's for sure. But I'm right?'

With a hint of anger--aimed at me--Zosime sniffed. She looked like my mother poking through a basket of bad cabbages. 'She came. I did what I could for her. She left shortly afterwards.'

'Cured?'

The woman considered her answer. 'Her fever had abated. I cannot say whether it was remission or a permanent recovery.'

'If it's just a remission, how long before the trouble returns?'

'Impossible to predict.'

'Would it be serious--or fatal?'

'Again, who knows?'

'So what's wrong with her?'

'Some kind of contracted disease. Very like summer fever in which case, you know it does kill.'

'Why would she have summer fever in December?'

'Perhaps because she is a stranger to Rome and more vulnerable to our diseases.'

'What about the headaches?'

Just one of her symptoms. It was the underlying disease that needed curing.'

'Should I worry?'

'Veleda
should worry,' Zosime reproved me.

She was helpful--yet she was not helping in real terms. None of this took me forwards. 'Did you like her?'

'Like.
. .?' Zosime looked startled. 'She was a patient.'

'She was a woman, and in trouble.'

Zosime brushed aside my suggestion that Veleda had special status. 'I thought her clever and capable.'

'Capable of killing?' I asked, looking at her narrowly.

Zosime paused. 'Yes, I heard about the Murder.'

'From Veleda?'

'No, she never mentioned it. Quadrumatus Labeo sent people to ask me if I had seen her, after she fled his house. They told me about it.'

'Do you believe Veleda killed Scaeva?'

'I think she could have done, if she wanted to... But why would she want to?'

'So, when they told you about it, why didn't you ask for her version?'

'She had already moved on.'

'Where to?'

'I cannot say.'

Could not say, or would not? I didn't push it; I had other things to ask first. I noted that 'moved on' suggested choice rather than panicked flight. 'So how long was she at your temple? And did anybody visit her?'

'Just a few days. And no one visited, not to my knowledge. But she was never treated as a prisoner while she was with us.'

So anybody could have called on her... Ganna, for instance. Probably not Justinus, but you never know with men who are in love with their romantic past. His parents and wife had been watching him, but any man who reaches twenty-five unscathed has learned how to dodge domestic scrutiny. 'Did she ever mention Scaeva at all?'

'No.'

This was as much hard work as moving a very large dung heap with a rather short shovel. I tried a new tack. 'Tell me about what you do at night among the vagrants. I heard you took Veleda around with you?'

'She came with me once. She wanted to see Rome. I thought it was an opportunity to test how well she had recovered.'

'See Rome? Any particular part of the city? An address?'

'Just in general, Falco. She sat on the donkey, and rode behind me while I toured the streets. I look for huddles in doorways. If there are slaves or other vagrants in difficulties I tend them there, if I can, or else take them back to the temple where we can care for them properly.'

"Bringer of death".'

'I beg your pardon?'

I was referring to Zoilus, the ghost-man who swooped about on the Via Appia. 'Why would someone call Veleda--or you--a bringer of death?'

'For no reason--' Zosime was indignant. 'Unless he was drunk or demented. '

'The runaway slaves have seen Veleda with you--'

'Didius Falco, I am known for my charitable work. Respected and trusted. The slaves may not always accept help, but they understand the reason it is offered. I am shocked by your suggestion!'

'The other night,' I recalled, ignoring the rhetoric, 'I saw someone with a donkey approaching a man near the Capena Gate. A vagrant lying in a doorway. A dead man.'

'I go to that area,' Zosime admitted stiffly. She would not acknowledge the incident with the corpse. She had the same build as the hooded person I had seen, however. I wished now that I had waited to see what that person did when they found the body. 'If he was definitely dead, he had passed beyond our temple's help. We do arrange funerals for patients who die while they are with us on the Island, but I am discouraged from bringing home corpses.' The way she said 'discouraged' implied rows with the temple management. I could envisage Zosime as a troublesome employee. I sensed a history of conflict at the temple about her night-time good works. People there, especially her superiors who were trying to balance budgets, might disapprove of actively seeking extra patients--patients who, by definition, had no money themselves and no affectionate family or masters to weigh in with funds for treatment. 'Are you absolutely sure, Falco? Was the man you saw merely motionless, asleep--'

'Oh I know death, Zosime.'

She gave me a level stare. 'I imagine you do.' It was not a compliment.