Shadows in Bronze (28 page)

LXII

Nothing else transpired, but it seemed a long night.

That resentful tick would never surrender quietly. Helena Justina had a high sense of duty; he still made her feel responsible for his plight. So sooner or later Pertinax and I faced a private reckoning.

As my initial shock wore off, I remembered what I had heard about their marriage. Helena had led a solitary life. She slept alone in that beautiful room while Pertinax had his spacious quarters in a different wing, with Barnabas as his confidant. For a young, ambitious senator, taking a wife was an act of state service which he endured to win fools' votes. Having done it, Pertinax expected his marital rights, but begrudged her his time.

No wonder senators' wives run after gladiators and other low life forms. Pertinax should count himself lucky that his had the good manners to divorce him first.

Next morning I ambled about the villa looking for something to happen. I found the ex-Consul in a large garden at the back of the house, discussing asparagus with one of the staff.

'Seen your son this morning?' I hoped Pertinax had had a heavy weight dropped on his head by the two intruders during the night. But Marcellus disappointed me.

'Yes, I have. Falco, we need to talk...'

He said a few words about wilt to the gardener then we strolled, slowly because of the Consul's infirmity, among the formal flowerbeds. They had the usual profusion of urns, fountains, birdbaths and statues of Cupids with guilty expressions, though the Consul's landscape gardener was a passionate shrub man at heart. He had double quantities of box and rosemary planted out in scroll shapes; his trellises and stone borders were almost invisible under enthusiastic daphnes and rampaging quince. Everywhere lattices sagged under jasmine; huge mulberry trees were lovingly tended in formal parterres. Of the twelve species of roses, I counted at least ten.

'What are your intentions?' Marcellus asked bluntly.

'My instructions just don't cover this. The Emperor will expect me to consult before I act.' We had paused, staring into the sunlit depths of a lengthy fish-pool which placidly reflected his gaunt frame and my shorter, more sturdy one. I crouched down, admiring an unusual variegated periwinkle. 'Mind if I pull a shoot off this?'

'Take what you like.'

I jerked away a runner-that looked ready to reroot itself; the Consul watched in amusement. 'Family failing, sir! So, about your son, I can't see you letting me rope him to a donkey's tail. Even if I did, it's pointless if the Emperor then tells me he cannot possibly offend such a prominent man as yourself by locking up your heir. Domitian Caesar plotted too. Treating your son less leniently would be illogical.'

That was a gamble, but the Emperor did prefer easy solutions and an offer of an amnesty might make Marcellus co-operate.

‘And why,' he broached, eyeing me cannily down that massive nose of his, 'are you questioning an accident at the Temple of Hercules?'

'Because it was no accident! But I can count the beans in a pod. Any decent barrister should be able to convict Barnabas, but it will be hard to find a prosecutor able to stand up to the smooth-chinned, quicksilver lawyers who will rush to make their reputation defending a consul's son.'.

‘My son is innocent!' Marcellus insisted.

‘Most murderers are - if you ask them!' The Consul was careful not to let his annoyance show. 'Sir, Helena Justina's suggestion seems the best plan to me-'

‘No; it's out of the question! My son needs to resume his own name and status - a way must be found.'

‘You intend to stand .by him whatever the outcome?' 'He is my heir.'

We took a turn under a pergola.

'Sir, rehabilitation may be difficult. What if Vespasian reckons bringing the dead back to life raises too many questions? Since your fortune provides an obvious motive for fraud, he might find it more convenient to announce, "here's a wicked freedman hoping to profit by his patron's death"!'

'I will vouch for his real identity-'

‘Ah well, sir! You are an elderly man in poor health who has lost the heir he doted on. Naturally you want to believe he is still alive-'

'Helena will vouch for him!' the Consul snapped. I grinned.

'How true. And how fortunate for him!'

We both stood for a moment, smiling at how if Helena ever saw a mix-up she went flying in to speak out with the truth.

‘They should never have separated!' the Consul complained bitterly. 'I knew I should not have allowed it. Helena never wanted a divorce-'

'Helena Justina,' I agreed coolly, 'believes in marriage as a contract of close companionship to last for forty years. She knew,' I said flatly, having given myself a nervous twinge, ‘she did not have that with your son.'

'Oh, they could do!' Marcellus brushed it aside. 'My son has great promise; something must be done for him-'

'Your son's a common criminal!' This was true, though unhelpful. I added more mildly, 'I reckon Vespasian's old- fashioned respect for a patrician name will protect Pertinax Marcellus; he'll survive to tend your ancestors' death masks. One more criminal in the Senate makes no difference after all!

'A jaundiced view!'

'I speak as I see. Consul, I've sampled the Herculaneum holding cell; it's crude. If I let Pertinax remain in your custody, will you honour the parole and keep him on the estate?

'Of course,' he said stiffly. I was not convinced Pertinax would stick to it, but I had no choice. Marcellus could call on scores of slaves to prevent an arrest. The ugly armed cavalry Pertinax had commanded when he tried to intercept me at Capua the day I arrived with Petro was probably estate blacksmiths and drivers, got up in iron hats.

'He will have to answer the charges against him,' I warned.

'Possibly,' replied the Consul offhandedly.

I felt utter frustration at his air of self-assurance; we were discussing treason and murder, but I had completely failed to impress on him how serious the situation was.

I gathered I was dismissed.

I found Helena on her balcony. I ran up and beamed at her; she was reclining with a beaker of cold water, sipping it uncertainly.

'Off colour?'

'Slow to wake up...' She smiled, with a private gleam that gave me a tickle in my throat.

'Look, the problem of Pertinax will depend on dispatches now. Don't expect an early adjudication from a gang of Palace clerks -' Helena gazed at me, assessing my reaction to last night's discovery. After a moment I muttered, 'How long have you known?'

'Since the night of the banquet.'

'You never said!'

'Are you jealous of Pertinax?'

‘No, of course not...

'Marcus!' she chided gently.

'Well what do you expect? When I walked in last night, I assumed he had come for the same reasons as me.'

'Oh I doubt it!' she laughed, in a dry tone. I was still sitting on the balcony parapet digesting this when someone brought me a messenger.

It was a slave from Herculaneum; Aemilius Rufus wanted to see me. I guessed this would be about Crispus. I had lost interest in Crispus - except for the fact that he was one quarry Vespasian had agreed to pay me for and I was desperate for cash.

I dismissed the servants while I tried to decide. Helena urged, 'It could be important; you ought to go.'

'Only if you stay with Petro and Silvia until I get back.' 'Gnaeus will never hurt me.'

'You don't know that,' I scowled, irritated by her use of his familiar name.

'He needs me.'

'I hope not! What for?'

By then I was so agitated she had to confess. 'This is bound to upset you. The Consul has convinced him he ought to remarry me.' She was right. I was upset. 'You would ask! Listen, Caprenius Marcellus has two great aims: salvaging a public career for Gnaeus, and obtaining an heir. A grandchild would secure the estate-'

'I don't want to hear this. You appall me sometimes; how can you even speak of it?'

'Oh, a girl does need a husband!' Helena suggested ironically.

It was completely unfair. I shrugged, struggling to express my own lack of status, and contacts, and cash. Then hopeless rage took over. 'Well you know what to expect from that one! Neglect, uninterest - and probably worse now! Did he beat you? Don't worry; he will!' Helena was listening with a set face as I crashed on like a loose heifer in a melon patch. 'Well, you're a man. I'm sure you know!' she retorted stiffly. I jumped down from my perch.

'You do what you want, my darling! If you need to be respectable, and you think that's the way, you go back to him -' I lowered my voice, restraining myself because she needed to remember this: 'But any time you've had enough of it, I'll come and fetch you out of it.' I was off along the balcony. 'That's called loyalty!' I threw back insultingly.

'Marcus!' she pleaded; I set my back and refused to answer her.

Half-way down the estate road I saw Pertinax. He was schooling his horses on the riding range; even at a distance he looked thoroughly absorbed. He had both the racers out. He kept one in the shade while he was galloping the other. It was far more deliberate than the young men's light recreation for which that tree-shaded area had been first designed. He was working them professionally. He knew exactly what he was doing; the procedure was a joy to watch.

Little Sweetheart was snuffling in the grass for poisonous plants that would give him belly ache. Pertinax was on the champion, Ferox. If he had been alone, I would have fought him then and settled everything, but Bryon was with him.

Bryon, who was leaning on a post eating figs, stared at me curiously but with his master there I did not speak. Pertinax ignored me. The sombre skill with which he was galloping Ferox seemed to emphasize the advantages he would always have over me.

There was fresh mule dung under the cypress trees, but the two animals I found there last night had gone. I had a feeling I would soon see them again.

I had marched all the way to the high road before a boy caught up with me.

He only had to run as far as the herm. I was sitting on a boulder, cursing myself for quarrelling with Helena, cursing her, cursing him... desperately worrying.

‘Didius Falco!'

The lad had fish pickle spilt down his tunic, a skin problem it was better not to think about, and badly grazed, dirty knees. But if he had been fainting on a podium in the slave market I would have mortgaged my life to save him from cruelty.

He handed me a waxed tablet. The writing was new to me, though my heart leapt. It was short, and I could hear Helena's aggravated tone in every word:

He near hit me; though I always felt he might. What makes you think I could choose someone like that, after I had known you?

Don't fall in any water. HJ

Back at home on the Aventine I sometimes found love letters lying on my door-mat. I never kept incriminating correspondence. But I had the feeling that in forty years' time when my pale-faced executors were sorting through my personal effects, this was a letter they would find wrapped in linen, tucked down the side of my stylus box among the sealing wax.

LXIII

The fact he had asked me to visit him did not mean that Aemilius Rufus troubled to be at home when I arrived. He was in court all day. I had lunch at his house, politely hanging round for him. Rufus wisely ate out.

I perched on one of the knife-edged silver seats, leaning against its unyielding horsehair cushions with the pensive expression of a man who cannot get his bottom comfortable. I was wriggling about beneath a frieze of King Pentheus being torn to shreds by Bacchantes (nice relaxing subject for a waiting room) when I heard Aemilia Fausta going out; I stuck fast in my stuffy nook, avoiding her.

Eventually Rufus deigned to return. I popped my head out. He stood talking to a lank boy, a good-looking Illyrian slave who was squatting on the front step cleaning out the wickholder of an interesting lantern; it had rattling bronze carrying chains, opaque horn sides to protect the flame, and a removable top which was pierced with ventilation holes.

'Hello, Falco!' Rufus was staggeringly agreeable after his lunch. 'Admiring my slave?'

'No, sir; I'm admiring his lamp!'

We exchanged a whimsical glance.

We adjourned to his study. This at least had some character, being hung with souvenirs he had picked up on foreign service: peculiar gourds, tribal spears, ships' pennants, moth-eaten drums - the sort of stuff Festus and I hankered after when we were teenagers, before we moved on to women and drink. I declined wine; Rufus himself decided against, then I watched him becoming sober again as his meal took effect. He threw himself sideways onto a couch, giving me the best view of his profile and the glints in his golden hair that shimmered in the sunlight coming through an open window. Thinking about women and the sort of men they fall for, I hunched glumly on a low seat.

'You wanted to see me, sir,' I reminded him patiently.

'Yes indeed! Didius Falco, events certainly liven up when you're around!' People often say this to me; can't imagine why.

'Something about Crispus, sir?'

Perhaps he was still trying to use Crispus to do himself some good, because he sloughed off my question. I quelled my next thought: that his sister had made some obnoxious complaint to Rufus about me. 'I have had a visitation!' he complained sulkily. Magistrates in dull towns like Herculaneum expect a quiet life. 'Does the name Gordianus mean anything to you?'

'Curtius Gordianus,' I classified carefully, 'is the incumbent elect for the Temple of Hera at Paestum.'

'You keep up with the news!'

'Good informers study the Forum Gazette. Anyway, I've met him. So why did he approach you?'

'He wants me to arrest someone.'

A long core of stillness set like cooling metal down the centre of my chest. 'Atius Pertinax?'

'Then it is true?' Rufus asked warily. 'Pertinax Marcellus is alive?'

'Afraid so. When the Fate was snipping his thread, some fool jogged her elbow. Is this what you heard at the banquet?'

'Crispus hinted.'

'Crispus would! I was hoping to play off Crispus and Pertinax against one another... So were you, I dare say!'

He grinned. "Gordianus seems set on complicating things.'

'Yes. I should have expected it.' This new move by the Chief Priest fitted his stubborn intensity. I could envisage him after I had left Croton, brewing to the boil as he mourned his brother's death. And now that the magistrate had mentioned Gordianus, I remembered those two familiar shadows I had observed the previous night - and identified them. 'He has two lookouts keeping Pertinax under day-and-night surveillance.'

'Does that mean you have seen him?'

'No. I've seen them.'

The magistrate eyed me, uncertain how much I knew. ‘Gordianus spun me a weird tale. Can you shed any light, Falco?'

I could. So I did.

When I finished Rufus whistled softly. He asked sensible legal questions then agreed with me; the evidence was all too circumstantial. 'If I did place Pertinax Marcellus under arrest, more facts might emerge-'

'A risk though, sir. If some widow without two sesterces to rub together had put this case to you, you would decline to hear it.'

'Oh, the law is impartial, Falco!'

‘Yes; and barristers hate to earn a fee! How did Gordianus know Pertinax was hereabouts?'

'Crispus told him. Look, Falco, I shall have to take Gordianus seriously. You are an Imperial agent; what is the official view?'

‘Mine is that if Gordianus forces a trial it will raise a bad smell all the way from here to the Capitol. But he might succeed despite the lack of evidence. We both know the sight of a grief-stricken brother calling out for justice is the sort of sentimental scene that makes juries sob into their togas and convict.'

‘So I should arrest Pertinax?'

‘I believe he killed Curtius Longinus, who may have threatened to expose him, and later he tried to kill Gordianus too. These are serious charges. It sticks in my craw to grant him a pardon simply because he is a consul's adopted son.'

Aemilius Rufus listened to my grounds for action with the caution I should have expected from a country magistrate. If I had been the victim of a malicious prosecution based on flimsy evidence, I might have commended his thoroughness. As it was, I felt we were wasting time.

We talked round the problem for another hour. In the end Rufus decided to throw it over to Vespasian: just the sort of negative compromise I despised. We stopped the next Imperial dispatch rider who came through town. Rufus penned an elegant letter; I tore off a terse report. We told the horseman to ride all night. Even at the rate they travel the earliest he could arrive in Rome was dawn tomorrow, but Vespasian liked reading his correspondence at first light. Thinking of Rome, I was buffeted by homesickness, and wished I had dashed off with the message to the Palatine myself.

'Well. Nothing else we can do now,' the magistrate sighed, swinging his athletic torso into a sitting position so he could reach a tripod table and pour us wine. 'May as well enjoy ourselves-'

He was not the type I choose for a companion and I wanted to leave, but writing reports gives me a strong urge to get drunk. Especially at a senator's expense.

I almost suggested we went out to the baths together, but some lucky fluke stopped me. I hooked myself upright, stretched, and hopped over to fetch my wine; once in possession I condescended to sit on his couch to facilitate clinking cups like the cronies we weren't. Aemilius Rufus favoured me with his relaxed, golden smile. I buried myself gratefully in his Falernian, which was immaculate.

He said, 'I'm sorry I never saw much of you when you were tutoring my sister. I have been hoping to put that right-'

Then I felt his right hand fondling my thigh, while he told me what beautiful eyes I had.