A Body in the Bathhouse (29 page)

XXXVII

M
Y BAD
tooth had reasserted itself when I arrived at the project meeting. I was late. I had had a rough night, due in part to the baby crying. But I absolved Favonia. I can never rest peacefully after an encounter with a corpse.

Everyone else was already present. My hope for surprise was thwarted: they all knew what had happened. I wasted no time holding an inquest. There had never been much chance of keeping things quiet.

We all crowded into the architect’s room, this time with me taking the chair. I sensed that it did not entirely put me in charge.

The atmosphere was quiet, tense, and sour. They were all aware Pomponius was dead, and they probably knew how.

There had been collusion obviously. Instead of me watching them for their reactions, they were all staring at me. Informers recognized the challenge:
Well, let’s see if you can work this out, Falco!
If I was lucky, they were just curious to see how clever I was. A worse alternative would be that they had set some trap. I was the man from Rome. I should never forget that.

Present was all of the surviving project team: Cyprianus, the clerk of works; Magnus, the surveyor; both Plancus and Strephon, the junior architects; Lupus, the overseas labor supervisor; Timagenes, the landscape gardener; Milchato, the marble mason; Philocles Junior, the bereaved mosaicist, taking his father’s place; Blandus, the fresco painter; Rectus, the drainage engineer. Absent was anyone representing the British labor now that Mandumerus had absconded. Gaius represented all the clerks. Alexas, the medical orderly, had joined us at my request; later I would escort him to the bathhouse to remove the body. Verovolcus had added himself, no doubt at the instigation of the King.

“Should we have carpenters? Roof tilers?” I asked Cyprianus.

He shook his head. “I stand in for the trades unless we have a technical issue to discuss.”

“You wanted all of us from the farting meeting yesterday,” Rectus groused.

“That’s right. You had an issue to raise then?”

“Technical hitch.”

He did not know that Cyprianus, while in shock last night, had described the hitch: expensive ceramic pipes missing and Rectus incandescent with fury. “It’s sorted?” I asked innocently.

“Just routine, Falco.”

The drainage engineer was lying—or at least putting me off. It might be significant—or just symptomatic. The team was against me, that was certain.

It was not the first time everyone in a case was hostile, but that was to my advantage. I had professional experience. Unless they regularly arranged murders when life became difficult on-site, they were amateurs.

There was not much room in the project manager’s packed quarters, and certainly no privacy for individual questioning. I handed them tablets that I had brought for that purpose and asked everyone to write down their whereabouts the previous evening, suppling the names of anyone who could vouch for them. Verovolcus looked as if he thought himself exempt from this after-banquet party game, but I gave him a tablet anyway. I did wonder whether he would be able to write, but it appeared he could.

“While you are doing that, can I make a general appeal for anyone who saw anything significant in the region of the royal bathhouse?”

Nobody responded, although I thought there were some sideways glances. I realized that when I came to look at these tablets the men were gravely inscribing, they would all fit neatly, each one covered with an alibi, and each in turn covering somebody else.

“Well,” I said quietly. “I don’t suppose Pomponius had many friends here.” That did raise a cynical murmur. “Most of you represent larger groups; in theory, anyone off the site could have borne a grudge and done for him last night.” Downcast eyes and silence were now my only reward for this frankness. “But my starting point,” I warned them, “is that the killer, or killers, was somebody of status. They are permitted to use the King’s bathhouse—and last night Pomponius accepted their presence when they joined him in the caldarium. That rules out the laborers.”

“Ruling us in?” concluded Magnus wryly.

“Yes.”

“I object!”

“Out of order, Magnus. Pomponius will receive the same consideration as anyone. Being a bad team leader, even a highly unpopular one, does not excuse violent removal. Brutus and Cassius realized that.”

“So you would have offered a crown to Pomponius, Falco?” Magnus scoffed.

“You know what I thought. I loathe that type—it changes nothing,” I said tersely. “He still gets a funeral, a
Daily Gazette
obituary—and a courteous report on his demise for his grieving parents and the old friends in his hometown.”

I nearly said
and for his lovers
. But that meant Plancus, for one. He was a suspect.

Plancus had already handed in his tablet; I glanced at it, looking casual. He claimed he was dining with Strephon. Strephon still held his own tablet, but I knew it would confirm the tale. There was supposedly no love lost between the two junior architects, yet they had somehow produced cover for each other last night. Was it true? If true, was it pre-arranged? And if so, was taking a meal together normal or exceptional?

People had noticed me looking at the Plancus offering. There was a general move to collect and deposit the other statements. I publicly declined to look through the tablets. Camillus Aelianus, still laid up with his bitten leg, could play with these fabrications for me. I had no patience with their obstructiveness.

Magnus was still tying to force issues. “Surely your concern, as the Emperor’s man, is how losing Pomponius causes yet another hitch in the project?”

“The project will not suffer.” I had worked this one out while I lay awake in bed last night.

“Shit, Falco—now on top of everything, there is no project manager!”

“No need to panic.”

“We need one—”

“You have one.” My tooth gave a twinge, so I may have sounded curter than I meant. “For the immediate future, I myself will take over.”

Once the words were out, it made me gulp myself.

As their outrage boiled up, I interrupted levelly: “Yes, Pomponius was an architect, which I am not. But the design is good—and it is complete. We have Plancus and Strephon to take forward the concept—they will be assigned two wings each to supervise. Other disciplines and crafts are controlled by you people. You were chosen as leaders in your field; you can all cope with autonomy. Report to me on progress and problems.”

“You have no professional training,” gasped Cyprianus. He seemed truly shocked.

“I shall have your competent guidance.”

“Oh, stick to your brief, Falco!” Magnus roared. I had suspected that Magnus would seek control himself. Maybe I would recommend it—but not while he was, with the rest, under suspicion for Pomponious’ death.

“My brief, Magnus, is to steer this project back on target.”

“I concede you are a tough auditor. But do you think you have the expertise to
supervise
?”

“That would be nonsense.” I kept my reply gentle. “In the long term, Rome has to appoint a man with standing and professional skills.” Plus man-management and diplomacy, if I had any say. “It will not necesssarily be another architect.” Magnus cheered up. “In the interim, I can supply common sense and initiative—enough to stitch things together until we appoint a replacement.”

“Oh, this needs approval from the governor, Falco—”

“I agree.”

“He won’t allow it.”

“I’ll be pushed out then. But Frontinus is renowned for technical nous and practicality—I know him. I’ve worked with him. I came to Britain because he asked for me.”

That silenced most of them. Magnus did mutter, “Someone else seems to have a lust for power!” I ignored that. So he sought to bamboozle me with “We’re held up by some major indecisions, Falco.”

“Try me.”

“Well, what is to be done about incorporating the old house?” he demanded with ill-concealed truculence.

“The King wants it. The King is an experienced client, prepared to endure any inconvenience—so go ahead. Raise the floor levels and bring the existing palace into the new design. Had you already looked into this?”

“We did a feasibility study,” Magnus affirmed.

“Let’s define that,” I offered lightheartedly. “Feasibility: the client proposes a project, which everyone can see will never happen. Work is held in abeyance. Some disciplines do carry out independent preliminary work, failing to inform the project manager that they are doing so. The scheme then revives unexpectedly, and is thrown into the formal program with inadequate planning. …”

Magnus finally had the grace to soften up.

“Strephon!” I disturbed his dreams. “I said we’d divide the blocks between you and Plancus. You take the east and south wings, including the old house. Consult with Magnus over its incorporation, then bring your conclusions to the next meeting, please. Anything else?”

“My bloody collection tank!” put in Rectus gloomily. He was a man who came to site meetings expecting to be thwarted.

“Present your docket and I’ll sign for it. Anyone else?”

“The King requests a large formal tree in the central garden,” ventured Timagenes. “Pomponius had vetoed it—well, it ought to be a pair of trees—”

“Trees agreed.” I had not envisaged that this trip to Britain would include arboretum planting. Hades, I was game for anything now. “Trees, feature quality, two of same. Agree a species with the client, please.” Next I glared at Cyprianus. “Did you ever obtain a chief stonemason?” I could hardly remember who had mentioned it. Lupus, perhaps.

“Well …” For once I had caught out Cyprianus, who looked startled.

“Has your mason been assigned or not?”

“No.”

“Bull’s balls—your footings are in, you need to start—I’ll courier Rome and plead extreme urgency. Give me the name you want and his current location, plus a second best in case.”

“Rome has already been told all the details, Falco—”

“With Rome,” I snapped, “I always tell the full story every time I communicate. That way, no snooty clerk can thwart you with the old
incomplete documentation
trick.”

There seemed no point continuing the meeting, so I called a halt. Magnus leaped for the door first, tight-lipped and clutching his instrument satchel as if he wanted to swipe me with it. I signaled to Alexas that now was the time to deal with the bathhouse corpse, but Verovolcus stopped me leaving. I could hardly sweep the others out with a besom, so they all hushed and listened in.

“Falco, the King suggests that perhaps Marcellinus—”

“Could be called back here to assist?” I was as brisk with Verovolcus as I had been with the rest. I had expected his plea. Instinctively I was opposed to allowing the old menace to return. It was time someone stopped him agitating in the background as well. “It is an attractive solution, Verovolcus. Leave the idea with me. I must talk to the King—and Marcellinus too. …”

I was being diplomatic in the first instance. From the mutters it caused, the rest of the team failed to grasp that. With Verovolcus mooning at us, I could hardly expound my position. I summed up the previous architect as a difficult autocrat. I wanted him to stay in his retirement villa. But first I would persuade Togidubnus that Marcellinus had served his turn. Then I would have to explain this to Marcellinus himself—in strong terms.

While the King’s representative hovered unhappily, I took myself off to avoid further arguments. Strephon, who had been in whispered conversation with Cyprianus, detached himself and followed me out.

“Falco! What should I do about that man?”

“Which man?” I was anxious not to hang around in case Verovolcus grabbed me again. But I was also waiting for Alexas.

“The statue-seller.” Strephon dodged aside as Cyprianus pushed past him and stomped off hastily somewhere.

“Sextius?”

“Pomponius would not see him. Shall I bring him to you, Falco?”

I would be swamped with petty decisions unless I trained this crew to take some responsibility. I grasped the young architect by one shoulder. “Is there a statue budget?” Strephon nodded. “Right. Your scheme must allow at least one colossal full-length portrait of the Emperor, plus high-quality marble busts of Vespasian and his sons. Cost in family likenesses for the King. Add a bunch of classical subjects—bushy-bearded philosophers, unknown authors, naked goddesses leering back over one shoulder, cute animals, and potbellied Cupids with adorable pet birds. Plan enough to ornament the garden, the entrance hall, the audience chamber, and other major positions. If there is anything left in your money chest, then you can play with it.”

“Me?” Strephon went white.

“You and the client, Strephon. Take Sextius to the King. See if Togidubnus likes the mechanical toys. They may be technically astounding, but the King is trying very hard to be cultured and he may have more refined taste. Let him choose.”

“What if—”

“If the King really wants some plaything with hidden waterworks, be firm about costs. If he’s not interested, be firm with Sextius. Clear him off the site.”

There was a slight pause. “Right,” said Strephon.

“Good,” said I.

Neither Verovolcus nor Alexas had emerged from the plan room. Since I had Strephon’s attention, I collared him. “How was your dinner with Plancus last evening?”

He was ready. “Decent pork, but the shellfish starters make my guts gurgle.” It sounded rehearsed.

“Regular event, was this mutual dining?”

“No!” He thought I was implying his sexual tastes were all masculine.

“So why last night?”

“Pomponius used to lose interest in Plancus. Then Plancus would throw a despairing fit; I had to take him in and listen.”

“How despairing was he yesterday?”

Strephon could see where I was aiming. “Just enough to drink himself under the serving table and lie there snoring until dawn. My house-slave will confirm that we were stuck with him all night. And that Plancus snores so loudly,
I
stayed up playing board games with the boy.” An intelligent bit of self-defense had surfaced there.