A Body in the Bathhouse (25 page)

“You’re just angling to be sent home to your mother.”

“I am damn well not! I’m in enough pain.”

“Helena will come over and sort you out. She can bring you to the palace. Camilla Hyspale can nurse you.” Aelianus shuddered. “No, all right. You are suffering enough. Helena will tenderly care for you. I’m so relieved to see you, I may even straighten your bedcovers.”

I sat on his bunk. He shifted away petulantly. “Leave me alone, Falco.”

“I have been searching everywhere for you,” I assured him. “The thought that you had died on me was heartrending, Aulus.”

“Shove off, Falco.”

“Everyone has been scouring the site. So how did you get here?”

I was the only entertainment available. Aelianus sighed and gave in, prepared to talk. “You went off one way and I headed back up the track. The mosaicist ignored me when I banged on his shutter. I had legged it as far as the painters’ hut when some of the dogs caught up. I just managed to scramble inside, but one got his damned teeth into my shin. I shook the fiend off somehow and slammed the door closed. Then I sat with my back jammed against that door and my knees braced hard, I can tell you!”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come for you. I was rescuing Helena.”

“Well, I hoped you had her.” The way he said it meant,
On the other hand—stuff you, Falco!
“In the end, the dogs were called off and taken away. I heard that mosaicist lambasting the men outside for the noise the dogs made. He was giving them a real earful—so nobody looked in the painters’ hut, thankfully. I was not prepared to venture out again. I thought I wouldn’t make it anywhere anyway. I must have drifted off into oblivion—then the painter lad came home.”

“Your brother’s pal?”

“He was completely out of it.”

“Drunk?”

“Lathered.”

“So no use?”

“Oh, I was just glad to have human company. I told him what had happened and he listened blearily. He passed out. I passed out. Eventually we both woke up. It was at that point we noticed how much I had bled.”

Aelianus told this tale with rakish fluency. He could be a prude over women, but I knew that as a young tribune in Baetica he was one of the crowd. Even in Rome, with his fond parents watching, he had been known to roll home at dawn, uncertain of how he had spent the previous night.

“The painter brought you to be bandaged?”

“It was still very early; no one was about. So he hitched an arm around me and I hopped here. We told Alexas not to mention me to anyone.”

“The painter could have let me know.”

“He wanted to go back to sleep in his hut. He was not a well boy.”

“Alexas could have given him a draft.”

“Alexas said he wouldn’t waste good medicine.”

“Does this fine toper know you are connected to your brother?”

“He knows that Quintus is my brother.”

“Then he knows everything by the sound of it.”

“He’s all right,” said Aelianus, usually no fan of anyone. He must have felt really lonely in that hut last night until the painter joined him.

He closed his eyes. Shock had taken its toll. Dog bites hurt badly too. I patted his good leg. “You’ve done enough. Have your sleep. I am truly sorry you were wounded to no purpose.”

Aelianus, who had propped himself up when I first entered, lay down again on his back. “Shall I tell him?” he asked the low ceiling. “Yes, I will! He treats me like shit, he abandons me to die, and he jibes at me. But I am a person of honor, with noble values.”

“You are warped.” In fact, he sounded like his sister. It was the first time any likeness to Helena had revealed itself. “Yet in a crisis you act responsibly. Spit it out then.”

“The painter lad has a message from Justinus, which—were they not a pair of reprobates—they would themselves be telling you urgently. Instead, my brother merely informed this adolescent painter, about whom we know absolutely nothing, and
he
deposited the vital facts with
me
, a drugged-up invalid. He did seem to think you would find me, Falco,” Aelianus mused with some surprise.

“I’m glad someone has faith in me. … What’s the word?”

“You’re in big trouble.” Aelianus always gained too much pleasure from telling bad news.

I glared. “What now?”

“When Justinus and his friend were drinking in their favorite piss hole in Novio last night, they overheard some men from the site. Have you had a bunch of urchins collecting names and writing up a chart?”

I nodded. “Iggidunus and Alla. Checking up who really works on-site—as opposed to the inventive wages records.”

“The men started out laughing about it. Thought you a real clown, wasting time on official nonsense. I hear there were jokes, some cruder than others. I was not given details,” Aelianus said with regret. “But then one laborer who must have a sliver of a brain saw the implications.”

“They realize I am counting them?”

“You reckon there is a numbers diddle?”

“And I’m planning to stop it.”

“That’s what they worked out,” warned Aelianus, no longer mischief-making. “So be on your guard. Justinus heard them making serious plans. Falco, they are coming after you.”

I wondered what to do. “Has Justinus had his cover blown?”

“No, or he would be here, petrified.”

“You underestimate him,” I stated curtly. “What about you?”

“The painter says they all regard me as your spy.”

“Well, donkey’s ding-a-lings, you must have been really careless!” For jeering at his brother, he was due some insults back. “I’ll move you over to the palace as quickly as possible. We should have the King’s protection in the old house. I’ll ask Togidubnus to supply me with a bodyguard.”

“Can you trust him?” Aelianus asked.

“Have to. The working presumption is that as Vespasian’s friend and ally, he represents law and order.” I paused. “Why do you ask?”

“The laborers who are after you are the British gang.”

“Oh brilliant!”

Whether I could trust the King when British tribesmen were against me was indeed an unknown quantity. Would his decision to be Roman override his origins? Would completing the project take precedence?

Suddenly it looked as if my personal safety might depend on just how much the royal homeowner wanted his new house.

XXXII

T
HE BRITISH
involvement was confirmed by a quick trip to my office. Alla and Iggidunus had handed in their list of named workers there last night. The clerk Gaius had already worked through it. The nonexistent men to whom Vespasian was paying wages all belonged to the local group who were managed by Mandumerus.

“You may like to know,” Gaius said heavily, “Iggy refused to have any more to do with you; he won’t even bring us
mulsum
. And Alla has been kept home by her father. She won’t be helping you again either.” Fair enough. I had no intention of placing the young people in danger.

“How about you?” I scoffed dryly. “Want to bunk off school as well?”

“Yes, I tried to get a sick note from my mother. Trouble is—she lives in Salonae.”

“And where is that?”

“Illyricum—Dalmatia.”

“She won’t get you off, then.”

Gaius stopped bantering. He spoke lightly, but underneath it he was tense. “I’ve never exposed a fraud before, Falco. I take it those involved won’t like us now?”

“Us? Thanks for aligning yourself with me,” I said. “But you’d better say in public, ‘I know nothing about it, I’m just the clerk.’ Let me be the one who exposes the fraud.”

“Well, you are paid more than me. …” He was angling to find out how much. Any clerk would want to know. I did not frighten him by saying that if I died here, I would not be paid at all.

I took a chance. There was no real alternative. I found Verovolcus and without giving reasons I told him that my position had become hazardous: in the name of the Emperor, I wanted the King’s protection for me and my party. Verovolcus was not taking me seriously—so with reluctance I mentioned the labor scam. He said at once that he would tell the King—and fix bodyguards. I then confessed that the culprits were the British group. Verovolcus’ face fell.

I might be surrounding myself with more trouble. But if the King was serious about Romanization, he would have to abandon his local loyalties. If Togidubnus could not do that, I would be in deep trouble.

I was now overdue at the site meeting—the one I had called. As I walked briskly to the ramshackle military suite where Pomponius had his work area, I was aware of a sinister new mood on-site. It confirmed the message from Justinus. The workmen had previously ignored me as some fancy management irrelevance. Now they took note. Their method was to stop work and stare at me in silence as I passed them. They were leaning on shovels in a way that had nothing to do with needing a breather—and all to do with suggesting they would like to beat those shovels over my head.

Remembering the battered corpse Pa and I had discovered back in Rome, I felt chilled.

Pomponius was waiting for me. He was too much on edge even to complain that I had kept him waiting. Flanked by his twin caryatids, the younger architects Plancus and Strephon, he sat chewing his thumb. Cyprianus was there too. Verovolcus turned up unexpectedly just as I arrived; I guessed the King had sent him speeding here to see what happened. Magnus followed a minute later.

“We don’t need either of you,” said Pomponius. Verovulcus feigned not to understand. Magnus, strictly speaking, had no direct management role. Of course he did not accept that definition. He was seething.

“I would like Magnus to be present,” I put in. I was hoping we would find time today to discuss the delivery-cart problem, whatever that was. “And Verovolcus already knows what I have to say about our labor problems.”

So Pomponius and I were daggers drawn right from the start.

Pomponius took a deep breath, intending to chair the meeting. “Falco.” I held back. He was expecting me to want to lead, so that floored him. “We have all heard what you have discovered. Clearly we should review the situation, then you will send a report to the Emperor.”

“We need a review,” I agreed tersely. “Reporting to Rome would take over a month. That’s time we don’t have—not with so much slippage already in the program. I was sent to sort things. I’ll do that, here on the ground. With your cooperation,” I added, to smooth his pride.

So long as I took any blame for problems, Pomponius had enough arrogance to seize this chance to act independently of Rome. Plancus and Strephon looked excited by their leader being decisive. I felt it could work out badly.

I outlined the situation. “We have a phantom labor force being charged to imperial funds.” I was aware of Verovolcus listening hard. “My research, I’m afraid, indicates that the problem is with the British group, the one Mandumerus runs.”

Pomponius leaped in: “Then I want all the Britons off the site.
Now!
”

“Not possible!” Cyprianus had spoken up quickly while Verovolcus was still swelling with outrage.

“He’s right. We need them,” I agreed. “Besides, to run a prestigious construction site in the provinces without any local labor would be most insensitive. The Emperor would never allow it.” Verovolcus kept quiet, but he was still simmering.

I had no idea how Vespasian would really react to wide-scale fiddling by a bunch of tribal trench-diggers. Still, it sounded as if he and I had shared hours of discussion on the fine points of policy.

“Right.” Pomponius came up with a new idea. “Mandumerus is to be replaced.”

Well, that was sensible. None of us argued.

“Now this dodge has come to light,” I said, “we have to stop it. I suggest we stop paying the supervisors in the current way. Instead of group rates based on their reported manpower figures, we’ll make them each submit a complete named roll. If either can’t write Latin or Greek, we can provide him with a clerk from the central pool.” I was thinking ahead to how other scams might develop: “Rotating the clerks.”

“On a random basis.” Cyprianus at least was working on the same lines as me.

“Cyprianus, you will have to become more involved. You know how many men are on-site. From now on, you should always countersign the labor chits.”

That meant if the problem persisted, the clerk of works would be personally liable.

I wondered why he had not spotted anomalies previously. Perhaps he had. Possibly he was crooked, though it seemed unlikely. I bet he just felt nobody would back him up. Judging him to be sound at base, I left that unpursued.

“I would like to know why you keep the two gangs separate,” I said.

“Historical,” Cyprianus replied. “When I came out here to set up the new project, the British group were already on-site as the palace maintenance crew. Many have worked here for years. Some of the old ’uns actually built the last house under Marcellinus; the rest are their sons, cousins, and brothers. They had formed established, tight-knit teams. You don’t break those up without losing something, Falco.”

“I accept that, but I think we have to. Amalgamate the groups. Let the British workers see that we are angry; let them know we have formally discussed whether to dismiss them. Then split them up and reallocate them among the foreign sector.”

“No, I won’t have that,” Pomponius interrupted haughtily, with no logic. He just hated to agree to anything that had come from me. “Leave this to the specialists, Falco. Established teams are a priority.”

“Normally yes. But Falco has a point—” Cyprianus began.

Pomponius brushed him aside rudely. “We shall stick with the present system.”

“I believe you will regret it,” I said in a cool tone, but I let it rest. He was the project manager. If he ignored good advice, he would be judged on results. I would report to Rome—both my findings and my recommendations. If the labor bill then stayed too high, Pomponius was for it.

A wider issue struck me. With Verovolcus present, raising it was tricky: I wondered whether King Togidubnus had known all along about the phantom labor. Had it been a regular arrangement for years? Were previous Emperors, Claudius and Nero, each overcharged? Was this fiddling routine—never detected by Rome, until new Treasury vigilance under Vespasian brought it to light? And so had the King knowingly
allowed
the fraud as a favor to his fellow Britons?