The Ides of April (13 page)

That was good. It meant they did not see the disappointing end to my madcap escape: I ran straight into Morellus, from the Fourth Cohort. The podgy swine was leaning on a corner, chewing his thumb, waiting for me to scamper away from Prisca’s and into his arms so he could escort me for the promised interview with his tribune.

‘Flavia Albia! What’s your hurry?’

‘Oh spit, Morellus! How did you trace me?’

‘Rodan mentioned where you might be.’ I don’t know why I bothered asking. ‘That charmless turd from the aediles’ office was ahead of me, but I reckoned you were capable of giving him the slip. So here I am. The twerp is still waiting for you pointlessly out front but, sweetie, you are all mine for the foreseeable.’

‘Soldier, I admire your reasoning.’ I was cursing it.

Morellus asked if I would come quietly, or should he fasten a collar and chain on my pretty neck? I assured him that was unnecessary, so he could forget any erotic thrill. Bondage was out; the only formality needed was to drop in at the home of a mature female relative who could come and be my chaperone. He said there was no time for that. Surprise! At least it saved two women having to endure abuse in the interview. I would not want an auntie to see this.

On principle I asked, would he send for my father then, since he was my male head of household, who ought to speak for me legally? Morellus said request noted, but no he would not, and did I think he was stupid? Surprise again.

So far, this was banter, almost routine. But I assumed what happened next with the tribune would be very different.

T
he Fourth Cohort’s main barracks was conveniently positioned right at the end of the Marcian Aqueduct, from which they could draw water. One corner of the building abutted onto the Street of the Public Fishponds (an amenity which no longer existed), with the station house entrance on the road that came up the Aventine through the Ardeatine Gate, at that point called the Clivus Triarius. The barracks was the usual forbidding edifice, with two-storey interior courtyards where the men on call hung about ‘preparing equipment’; they took an unnatural interest in an unchaperoned woman. I had expected that. Morellus fielded most of the suggestive remarks. I played deaf.

The vigiles were unarmed in the conventional sense. However, since they were hefty ex-slaves, kitted out with axes, grapplers, ropes and other heavy implements, they were never to be trifled with. Morellus gave me theoretical protection, but I kept my eyes downcast. I think of myself as spirited, but I never enjoy situations like that. Once we came in through the mighty gates there was nowhere to run. I won’t say nobody would hear you scream, but screaming was so normal here, nobody would investigate.

Down at the fancy end of the three massive courtyards was a shrine, and to one side of it a hidey-hole in which the cohort tribune ensconced himself when he wasn’t out to lunch. Morellus had appointed himself my guardian in this masculine environment. He asked squeamishly if I wanted him to come in with me.

‘No, thanks. Don’t interfere with your darling tribune’s technique, Morellus. So much easier for him to frighten me silly if I am trapped alone among strange men!’

Morellus, who had always been a baby about torture, looked relieved to miss the pain and terror, though he claimed he would wait outside only because the tribune had a rather small office. He promised to walk me home afterwards, and I replied cruelly, he was assuming I could still walk. He winced. I took a deep breath. He knocked. I marched in.

Inside the sparsely furnished office in fact there was sufficient space for four other men as well as Scaurus. I managed not to let the number of interrogators worry me. As soon as I stepped into the room, I felt disconcerted.
I was staring at a low serving table they had probably borrowed from a tavern, upon which were placed several small bowls overflowing with olives and fancy pastries.

I managed not to show a smile. Once I grasped what these were for, I saw that Cassius Scaurus and his brutes were about to be thoroughly underhand. Their intimidation tactics took the form of finger-snacks.

They placed me on a folding stool, the ceremonial X-shaped kind used by important officials, with a cushion (it was rather lumpy but I was astonished to get it), then asked solicitously if I was comfortable there. The tribune must have given me his own stool. What an honour. I wondered if I could manage to wee on it with terror.

Before beginning, we had a short, awkward chat about the weather that day. So far, the attempt to intimidate me worked, because I hate that kind of small-talk.

The five men assembled in a circle, with Scaurus directly opposite me, so he could lead the soft bargaining. They were all standing up. I did not find that menacing, because there were simply no other seats in the office and, anyway, they all looked sheepish.

Cassius Scaurus had a big nose, straggles of grey hair and the self-satisfaction of a man who is playing out his time at public expense in a dead-end job. He had beaten the system. He must have been a centurion in the legions, but that didn’t mean he was sharp, merely sly at manoeuvring. Thrown out by the army proper on ‘age’ grounds, he had wangled himself to Rome, but the man would never make it past the vigiles into the more coveted Urban Cohorts or Praetorians. That was regrettable, because in the vigiles he could probably do more damage to the general public.

‘So, you are Flavia Albia, Falco’s daughter. I have heard a lot about you.’ I decided not to show any encouragement. Obviously he was wondering if he dared ask, ‘Any chance you’ll get your titties out?’ They are all the same, right down to the ghastly vocabulary. He only stopped himself because all the rest would have wanted a grope too. He was too mean to let his men have a go. ‘So you work in the community, as an informer? That’s an unusual occupation for a woman. What are your interesting investigations at the moment, Flavia?’

No one I like ever calls me Flavia. I let him do it, without comment. He thought he was being intimate, not seeing how my hackles rose.

‘Oh you know, sir . . .’ I would never tell him what cases I really had. ‘One can always get by. Approach any bathhouse and offer to catch the peeper who keeps squinting through a hole he’s made into the women’s changing room. There is bound to be one. I help out.’

‘Fascinating!’ His vigiles ought to apprehend the peepers, and he knew it. As an excuse why they didn’t, he would claim shortage of manpower, but the real problem was total lack of interest in stopping the problem. Half his men would themselves squint through the hole at the women undressing, given the chance. I bet he would too. ‘Can we get you anything, Flavia? Something to drink, perhaps?’

‘No, thanks. You don’t want to waste time sending out a boy for peppermint teas all round – it’s such a hassle working out how many with honey, how many without. And there’s always one awkward customer who wants borage instead . . .’

Determined to be a gracious host, Scaurus gestured eagerly to the almond cakes. I made no move. My taste is savoury. Scaurus, who must have the usual male sweet tooth, was desperately trying not to slaver.

He could no longer resist the bounty spread so close, and awkwardly pulled a comport nearer. He snatched his hand back like a boy who heard his mother coming. He resisted some more, but then reached again and began munching. The other men watched longingly while their superior tucked in. I gave them a pitying smile as I wondered which had been sent out with coins from the kitty to buy the goodies. Somebody had passed off some extremely stale-looking custards on the errand boy. You know how after three days on the platter, they shrivel and the skin goes leathery.

‘Very unusual—’ Scaurus was gobbling too fast. He nearly choked on his cake and had to pause to sort himself out. He had crumbs all round his mouth. The others looked anxious. They were trained to revive people from smoke inhalation but, unless they were fathers of small children, might have little expertise in choking. When the tribune stopped coughing, he carried on wheezily, ‘—having someone like you come in to visit us.’

‘I imagine so,’ I answered gravely. ‘Successful and admired in the community. A nicely brought up equestrian’s daughter and senators’ niece.’ I would never normally have used such pressure, but felt inspired by my conversation with Andronicus about how my family’s status had impressed the aedile. I gazed at Scaurus mildly: ‘Instead of the usual back-of-the-arena whores, poor girls, all ready to open their hairy legs so your troops will let them leave with only a black eye and a big fine.’

All five men looked embarrassed. I heard one or two intakes of breath. It was nerves, rather than regret.

I gave Cassius Scaurus a longer, even more direct stare. ‘This is fun, but shall we be straight? I know why you have brought me in. A decision has been taken, involving people who consider themselves important, that you – unfortunate man − should be given the task of deterring me from something I was doing. First, you are supposed to deny that anything odd is going on in Rome. Then you will plead with me, will I please stop taking an interest in this hypothetical crime that nobody will admit is happening?’

The tribune had stopped eating. ‘Flavia, you are a very astute woman!’

He had changed his tone, not much, just slightly. I did feel a shiver slide down my spine inside my tunic. Scaurus knew how to seed a compliment with just enough threat. We both knew he had reached his rank through the normal application of bribery mixed with brutality. Vigiles officers were often poor quality, but he was by no means the lowest grade; he packed enough power to frighten me.

‘I was very well taught,’ I said simply.

That was enough reminder of where my expertise came from. But I stood no real chance of blackmailing this man with my family connections. Under Domitian, both Father and my uncles were keeping their heads down. My parents regularly spent long periods out of Rome. Scaurus probably knew all that.

We reached the crux of the interview. Scaurus writhed, as he attempted to put into words some delicate concept. ‘Suppose,’ he began carefully after a while. ‘Just suppose there had been one or two similar episodes.’

‘“Episodes”.’ I savoured the word, as if impressed by his subtle vocabulary. ‘You mean, the strange rash of dead people?’

‘I do not want to say that, Flavia.’

‘I know you don’t, Cassius, my friend. That is why I am helpfully saying the words for you. I can spell out the unmentionable because I am not bound by your official code of confidentiality – though don’t panic; I am always discreet.’

The tribune looked as relieved as he was also torn. ‘I’ll be perfectly honest with you, Flavia—’ I doubted that! ‘There may have been one or two odd events that are causing concern. My men are on it, working all hours. We expect to contain the situation very soon. Until that happens, there will be no public announcement. That is absolutely normal procedure,’ he insisted.

‘Absolutely,’ I concurred.

It made him anxious that I seemed to be compliant. I could see he felt he could not trust a young woman who sweetly agreed with him. He may have had deceitful girlfriends who robbed him blind, though I did not suppose there had ever been many. ‘The people at a high level who understand how to manage these things have said we must do nothing at this stage that could inflame the situation.’

‘Until you know what you are dealing with,’ I spelled out, as if we were cronies. He liked me knowing this standard jargon. ‘My family has always worked closely with the government. Cassius Scaurus, why don’t you let me help you, by way of my enquiries?’

‘Now then! You are not to be involved in this, Flavia!’ The tribune panicked. My disingenuous offer scared him. He had been told to get rid of me, but here I was, smiling and moving in closer. ‘We have got to keep it professional. The powers above do not want any wild rumours that could shake public confidence.’

‘I would never encourage rumours.’

‘Oh
we
know that!’ exclaimed Scaurus. All the rest moved about and shook their heads, keen to demonstrate to me that I was famous for being diplomatic and public-spirited.

I sighed. ‘You have been very frank, Tribune, whilst also being absolutely as discreet as your superiors could require. I appreciate all this.’

‘We can rely on you?’

‘Of course you can.’ I even relented and took one of the neglected olives daintily between two fingers, shaking off the brine before eating it so none would drip onto the far-from-clean serving table. One of the braver men grabbed a cake while I was doing it. The rest were keyed up, ready to fall on the sweetmeats as soon as they could.

‘Any time,’ swore Scaurus earnestly. ‘Any time the vigiles can help you with your work, Flavia Albia, you only have to come and ask. Titus Morellus – you know Morellus, don’t you—’

‘I do, I do. Wonderful fellow. Good family man, hugely experienced officer.’

‘Morellus has instructions to help you all you want.’

‘That is so good to know, Scaurus.’ If he wanted to believe he was winning me over, I could let him have his delusions. ‘But not on this?’ I gurgled playfully, as if we were all pals now, sharing a joke.

‘But not on this!’ pleaded the tribune, his eyes dark with distress in case he had failed to coerce me as he had been ordered.

‘Rely on me.’ I could be kind. I could tell lies too.

Rising to my feet, I shook hands very formally with each of them, then I made my escape. Behind me I heard the gasps of men who had been placed in an unfamiliar position that had made them very nervous, finally relieving their tension by snatching the almond cakes.

W
hen I emerged into the courtyard with its untidy piles of smoky rope mats, Morellus was talking and laughing with some of the vigiles. Flitting from pillar to pillar, I managed to tiptoe down a colonnade without him or any other men noticing, and started back to the other side of the Aventine by myself. He caught me up, unfortunately.

‘Holy hermaphrodites, Morellus! That man you work for is dogshit. Still, I am glad to report he told me I should liaise with you. We are to share information − and to start off nicely, you are going to tell me everything I need to hear about these unexplained killings.’