The Ides of April (11 page)

‘It must be difficult,’ Andronicus suggested. ‘Being on that kind of list?’

‘But I’m not! I couldn’t object; after all, it’s perfectly true we informers follow curious rituals, speculate on ethical questions, and above all, sell ourselves. We try to solve puzzles, like mathematicians. We sit in bars, philosophising – though, thank the gods, it’s not compulsory for informers to grow beards.’

‘Not even when you operate in disguise?’ tried Andronicus wickedly. The way he said it verged on flirting. Very pleasant.

My father’s name was on the vigiles’ list. He thought that was hilarious. They never came to search our house these days, nor bothered to arrest him. His name probably had a ‘Do Not Disturb’ mark alongside, to indicate that he was too pally with the old Emperor Vespasian.

My name had never been added. When I first became an informer, Uncle Lucius fixed that, claiming old-fashionedly that all I did was write love letters for the illiterate.

I did those sometimes. When the tear-jerkers were too banal, I passed them on to Father’s Egyptian secretary. Clients liked it. His handwriting was beautiful.

‘So I suppose,’ Andronicus pried gently, ‘you arranged to be erased from the registers with perhaps a hefty pay-off?’

‘No, my uncle in the vigiles never listed me to begin with.’

He whistled. ‘So you do have friends in all the right places!’

I asked Andronicus what the aedile did when he heard my name was missing. I should have guessed: he raised the level and sent for Cassius Scaurus. Although they worked in separate branches of law and order, Faustus would presume that as a magistrate he outranked a cohort commander. Scaurus wouldn’t think so, but he would certainly not refuse the summons. Now I knew why that morning Morellus had told me I was in bother with his tribune.

One thing was certain. As soon as Scaurus returned to the station house after a stiff wigging from Manlius Faustus, he would have summoned his clerk. I had escaped for twelve years, but I was definitely on the damned list now.

‘Actually,’ Andronicus assured me, ‘you emerged rather well from their discussion. Cassius Scaurus came to our headquarters, very nervous, expecting a stink. He wanted to make Faustus overlook their omission by providing as much detail as possible, so it would seem as if they did know all about you. After what he told my master, Faustus was well impressed.’

‘Educate me. What am I reckoned to have done?’

It was in the tribune’s interest to paint me as virtuous, in order to explain why I had never been listed. Apparently I was a pleasant widow, determined and intelligent (and with the aforementioned excellent social connections), who had aided the vigiles with a tenaciously difficult medical fraud. The implication was that I had put myself in danger then, acting as a lure.

‘In fact,’ I told Andronicus, ‘the one condition my parents laid on me when I started this work was that I must never, ever act as bait. It always goes wrong. Any woman who puts herself in jeopardy with a criminal is a fool.’

‘I am delighted you are so sensible, Albia.’

‘Of course I have done it. I just don’t tell them in advance.’ That, needless to say, is the main reason this ridiculous ploy fails. Nobody knows where you are, so how can they provide backup, or come rushing to rescue you?

Andronicus leaned forwards across the table. He abandoned his food bowl. He was a fast eater, one who probably never consciously noticed the taste of his food; when he had had enough he stopped, not bothering to clean up the bowl. ‘Please be careful!’ he pleaded, at his most earnest.

‘I’m still here.’

Just.

He had become too close to me; he cared too keenly about my welfare. I had no intention of scaring him by mentioning any narrow escapes I had had.

I made Andronicus tell me more of what had been said.

Cassius Scaurus had painted me to Faustus as an exotic specimen; he dwelt on the fact I had come to Rome from Britain, with all the usual nonsensical flourishes that holds. I groaned. ‘The remote and mysterious island, hidden in the mists, where red-haired, be-trousered inhabitants, every one wearing a huge gold torc, are permanently painted blue . . . Believe me, there is nothing romantic about mist if you live in it.’

‘Are they blue?’

‘Of course not! Well, occasionally – but the great freckled lumps want to wear togas nowadays, and earn a fortune swindling all comers in some dodgy import–export business. If going to the baths means a life of ease and underfloor heating can be yours, the average go-getting British tribesman is up for it. Why live in a hut, when a subsidised forum has been provided at imperial expense? Why farm, when international trade is such a doddle? They rush from their fields, dying to sell Rutupiae oysters to Rome.’

‘While we eagerly buy them!’ Andronicus grinned. Clearly he had heard that British delicacy outrivalled others.

‘Allowing the Britons to drink themselves silly in Londinium bars.’

‘By the way − you, dear girl, may look like a neat little Roman matron who has a distaff in one hand and household accounts in the other, but you have a muddy provincial background and may be a druid.’

My heart sank again. ‘I solve my cases by waving a mistletoe bough over the evidence? Ridiculous. I did let people spread that rumour years ago, though believe me I never started it. Actually, all druids are devious old men. Uncombed beards and mystic secrets. They never write anything down, because then people could check on what dirty cheats they are. Then it was explained to me by a sharp lawyer that in Rome dabbling in magic is a capital offence.’

‘Faustus was told that you do indeed know some sharp lawyers.’ Andronicus was watching me keenly, but there was enough fun in his gaze for me to enjoy it.

‘More uncles. I consult them for free, every time we have a family party.’

‘So handy! . . . The well-known Camilli, I believe?’ Oh joy! Cassius Scaurus really had gone into detail. ‘Up-and-coming barristers – and both of them are in the Senate.
That
news was disconcerting to a plebeian aedile, I can tell you, Albia. He thinks himself so lofty – then he found out you were way above his level socially.’

‘You really do not like Faustus!’

I asked him straight: what had the aedile done to him? Since we were exchanging personal information so openly today, Andronicus told me.

Manlius Faustus was plebeian nobility, the kind that had a long history of confrontation with the Senate because their wealth made them so powerful they refused to be told what to do by the traditional aristocracy. Princes in trade and commerce. As Rome became a great empire, they had seen and exploited the possibilities: Faustus’ family commissioned, built and hired out warehouses. Through this, they had become extremely rich. Although they lived in modest style on the Aventine, it was thought they had chests of money, and they certainly owned a battalion of slaves, all high-priced ones, selected by the aedile’s uncle because they were beautiful or talented. These were groomed and educated with the same attention to detail with which the Fausti looked after their warehouses. A clerical freedman with this background could consider himself a highly desirable commodity.

So, after being brought up and trained in the uncle’s house, once he was granted his freedom from slavery (now he did finally acknowledge his status), Andronicus had expected to be promoted. He had wanted a position as Manlius Faustus’ personal secretary. Faustus thought otherwise. He would not grant Andronicus that kind of access to his private papers. Andronicus felt the nephew should have fallen upon him gratefully as an assistant and confidant. Instead, Faustus not only refused, but arranged for him to work outside the house as an archivist at the Temple of Ceres.

‘I can just about put up with that – but then this year the swine gets himself elected as aedile. Of course Uncle Tullius fixed that, with vigorous wheeling and dealing, in the usual way. So now, I’m stuck with his godforsaken nephew on a daily basis, yet without the job I wanted – which in a just world was mine for the asking.’

‘Poor you.’

‘Thank you. I am indeed unfairly wretched.’

Junillus had despaired of us ordering anything else we might actually pay for. Since we continued to occupy his best table, he dumped a pair of free drinks in front of us. He glared. We ignored that.

‘So,’ I said, as we raised our beakers together, ‘while Faustus and the miserable tribune were gossiping, what cunning fly-on-the-fresco position were you occupying?’

‘They were sitting outside in the courtyard. I placed myself by an open door in a room across the colonnade. Cassius Scaurus has a booming voice; Faustus is softly spoken—’

‘But tends only to listen?’

‘I thought you had never met him?’ Andronicus looked hurt that I had other sources of information.

‘Someone just happened to describe him. Maybe I
should
meet him – since he is so interested in me.’

‘No. Don’t have anything to do with him.’

‘Why not? What’s dangerous about Faustus?’

‘Listen to me. Just don’t.’

Andronicus was so insistent, I feigned agreement. Of course, he only spurred my curiosity.

To sidetrack him, I directed the talk back to my origins in Britain. I explained about being a miracle baby plucked from the ashes of ruined Londinium. As an archivist, Andronicus was fascinated. ‘So you do not have a birth certificate?’

‘That’s the least of my worries! Somewhere I may well have done. It was probably destroyed in the Rebellion – though if it survived, it would be useless because nobody knows it is mine.’

‘So you really are British?’

‘Probably not. I could be anything. Most slaves know more about themselves than I do.’

‘That’s hard. Is this something that an aedile could use against you, Albia?’

‘No.’ I spoke dispassionately. ‘I have full Roman citizenship. I have a properly executed diploma granting me that. As a citizen, I was formally adopted. Your man cannot touch me – even should he want to. And why would he, Andronicus?’

‘He can be vindictive if he’s crossed.’

‘What have I ever done to offend him?’

‘You are poking around.’

‘In what? If I have touched on something confidential, all Manlius Faustus has to do is explain. I am a reasonable woman − Look, can’t you see, this is why I feel maybe I should come and talk to him.’

‘He won’t see you.’

‘This is the second time someone has said that so adamantly. Why? Does the pompous being believe he is too phenomenally busy or –’ I was passionate now – ‘is he just terrified of women?’

Andronicus gave thought to this. Eventually he said, as if light had suddenly beamed in through a shutter, ‘I think you just nailed it, Albia!’

W
e sat on in the caupona.

Customers thinned out. Junillus mopped a cloth around, then sat by himself with some building plans. He was a bright boy. At various times my aunt had paid for him to have lessons, when she could root out an understanding teacher. He had studied geography and, I seemed to remember, mathematics. He particularly shone at geometry. Wrestling had preserved him from being bullied.

Recently his parents had downsized to a new home after his father retired from government service; Junillus had grabbed the floorplans to put a stop to the kind of ghastly remodelling Junia and Gaius had imposed on their previous apartment. Gaius Baebius was a man who could not tell which end of a nail should be banged in. Nevertheless, he was always attempting to create a sophisticated sun terrace. His projects usually came to a standstill when he fell off a ladder and hurt his back.

Andronicus and I talked, or sometimes did not talk. He seemed to have no need to return to the aediles’ office that afternoon. I could tell he had a maverick attitude; he came and went as he chose. This might displease a pernickety master.

The weather was sunny, but not yet hot. April is one of the most pleasant months in many countries. I felt myself sliding into a dreamy state, not all of it caused by wine.

The rest of the day passed easily. After a time, Andronicus and I, and my cousin, were the only people there. My dear cousin saw no reason to disappear and leave us in private. Despite being adopted, he possessed all the most annoying traits that ran in our family. It was interesting that he had absorbed the others’ bad points, whereas I remained so unquarrelsome and discreet.

When people started dropping in on their way from work, Junillus stood up and began making pork nuggets to grill on skewers.

I glanced at Andronicus. Meat dishes were banned in bars. His master, the aedile, would punish my aunt if this crime ever caught his eye. Andronicus grinned; he held no brief for Faustus in his official role. Junillus signalled forcefully that he would give us takeaway nuggets gratis, if we would just stop hogging his best table. (There were only two tables in the tiny indoor space: the best and the one on the way to the latrine.) Most customers leant on the counter during daylight hours, but in the evening there was more demand for seating. Men who dropped in then were more likely to relax for longer; they liked to play dice and board games too. If they were sitting down with a table between them, there was a split second longer for intervention when they fell out over the game and tried to kill each other.

So, we accepted a long kebab skewer and, you guessed it, took the nuggets home to mine.

As we walked, the level of excitement between Andronicus and me rose significantly.

I looked in on Rodan in case there were messages. The useless bundle was not there.

Andronicus bounded ahead, going straight upstairs towards the office. Had he been slower, I was seriously intending to take him to my private apartment. By the time I caught up, my over-keen admirer had lost his chance. That did not mean he had lost altogether. He and I were extremely happy together by this stage. On one of the landings, Andronicus pulled me to him and we kissed. His kissing was light and fluttery, compared with how I really liked it, but naturally he was just making overtures for more serious work later . . .

Up in the office, I ignored the armed chair and we settled side by side on the couch. It seemed the natural place to be. When Andronicus relaxed, with one arm along the back of the furniture, it seemed natural, too, that in due course the arm should slide down around my shoulders. I pretended not to regard it as significant. He pretended not to know he was doing it.