I was glimpsing how Manlius Faustus and his uncle had behaved with the public when he stood for office himself this time last year. It was a new side of him. I was not sure I liked it.
‘Remember – give your voice to Vibius!’
Before I could dodge, Faustus put his warm hands on my waist and lifted me onto the donkey. Allowing people to save your life makes them very free with you.
He had put me up side-saddle. Of course there was no saddle, only a threadbare cloth. Faustus had a glint in his eye as he realised I was considering whether to ride astride. Normally I do, but getting into position reveals bare legs. Manlius Faustus would really enjoy disapproving of that.
Since it made talking easier, I stayed put. Patchy moved off and we ambled along, trailed by the donkey boy and Dromo.
‘Is that granary one of your uncle’s buildings?’ I asked. Faustus’s Uncle Tullius owned commercial warehouses.
‘No, but he keeps his old accounts there, rather than waste our own space. My uncle likes high-grade retail tenants who will pay heftily for decent security. That place is cheaper − but just a dump. I’m picking up documents for Sextus Vibius.’
‘What are they?’
‘Mortgages and leases his father wants to call in for cash to lavish on potential voters. A lot of influential senators are about to be spoiled – let us hope they are grateful.’
‘And who is Vibius?’
‘My old school friend,’ he explained. ‘I persuaded him to stand as an aedile. I am his campaign adviser.’
‘Hard work?’
‘Harder for me than him, it seems. I feel like a biffed fly, madly zizzing on the floor …’ Actually, Faustus seemed cheerful enough. We had worked together on a couple of inquiries. He had energy and tenacity; I enjoyed sharing a case with him.
I had only known this man for three months, but when he seized my donkey’s rein from the boy and led it himself, I knew he was after something; he probably wanted to work with me again.
He took me to an apartment on the Clivus Scauri, close to that gate in the Servian Walls where the Arch of the consuls Dolabella and Silanus stands. His friend lived in modest, though elegant, rooms on an upper floor with a wife I did not meet. His elderly parents had the ground floor, the original family home, from which the campaign for Vibius was being run. Apart from the extra space available, working downstairs was more convenient. There was constant coming and going. The house was very well placed for business in the Forum; depending on which way you turned, you could walk down easily through either of the valleys around the Caelian. It was obvious why aristocrats, and now other people with money, should want to live thereabouts.
The Vibii had money, judging by their furniture – for instance, a large round table with exquisite figured veneering, a table whose cost would have paid lifetime bills for poorer families. Trained by my father, I reckoned that on the right day it would make a good price at auction.
Faustus introduced his friend: Sextus Vibius Marinus. He was around the same age, thinner, with floppy hair. He had a jumpy manner, where Faustus was watchful and still.
It is odd how you can balk at your friends’ friends. Faustus assumed I would love Vibius as he did, and be equally thrilled by their campaign. To me, Vibius seemed much less mature. I felt lukewarm about him and, had I been entitled to vote, I would have picked another candidate.
Vibius wandered off to take the mortgage scrolls to his father’s study. Faustus, well at home there, ministered to me. He indicated a daybed (bronze frame and head pad, lavish cushions) and arranged refreshments. Resting with a long cold drink of water helped me recover quickly. Reassured, Faustus apologised for being churlish with me earlier.
In theory there was social distance between us: I was a private investigator and he was a magistrate, whose remit included monitoring dangerous people like me. Some aediles were a problem in my line of work. If he wanted to be awkward, Manlius Faustus could have hampered my activities. But once someone willingly holds a sick bowl for you and sponges up your mess, perhaps he is unlikely to fine you or limit your activities.
‘I overdid things today,’ I admitted meekly.
‘Promise to take care.’
I found it hard to choose the right words. ‘I wanted to tell you how grateful I am-’
Faustus brushed aside my stilted thanks. ‘Own up, you scamp. What were you doing at the granary?’
Reluctant to keep secrets from him, I explained about the body in the box and confessed my plan to investigate. Faustus pulled a face. ‘Trust you!’
His friend reappeared and listened, intrigued, as Faustus tried to dissuade me. ‘Just call in the vigiles, Albia.’
I claimed that my father would expect me to carry out enquiries. Faustus saw through that. ‘Nonsense. You nearly died. This is too soon!’
‘I promise I shall only make gentle enquiries. I haven’t explored enough yet. All I have had time to do is question a certain Callistus Primus, who owns the box but denies knowledge of the stiff inside.’
To my surprise, Faustus and Vibius exchanged a glance. Faustus only said to me, ‘We know Primus.’
I asked, ‘So?’ They both shrugged.
‘Through Julia, my wife,’ added Vibius cagily.
I left it. Faustus, for one, would have seen that I noticed the atmosphere.
‘You must be busy,’ Vibius suggested, trying to send me home.
Faustus overruled him. ‘I asked Flavia Albia here on purpose.’ He told me, ‘You could help us.’
I knew his commissions. ‘I need to solve the box-man problem.’
‘That’s heading nowhere … Listen, before you refuse.’
I owed him that. ‘What, then?’
‘You remember that tract I was reading – the advice to Cicero, supposedly written by his younger brother?’
I had a vision of lying ill in bed at my apartment, while Faustus sprawled in a wicker chair close by, choosing to entertain an invalid by reading aloud a published letter full of frank advice for political success. He made an unusual nurse. Very unusual. I blushed to remember.
Cicero’s brother had been sufficiently cynical to keep me from drowsing as I howled at his proposals for getting a ‘new man’ elected as consul in traditional Rome.
‘Oh, I remember, Faustus: keep your friends happy with promises in case you win, even though you may never be able to fulfil the promises, and probably don’t intend to. Ruthlessly call in old favours. Talk sweetly, even to people you despise. Make yourself visible in the Forum on a daily basis. And – my favourite – brutally blacken the names of any other candidates. Is that devious tract your campaign manual, Tiberius Manlius? And you such a person of principle!’
His friend Vibius guffawed quietly.
‘It worked for Cicero,’ Faustus reminded us. ‘I have lined up all Sextus’s family and friends, we visit the Forum at the same time each day so people now recognise us, we have lists of all the guilds and trade organisations to canvass, we are smooching special-interest groups, we give dinners and banquets, we attend public entertainments-’
‘Tut! I hope you are not neglecting your own valuable work as aedile!’ I was mimicking the tone in which he often criticised me. ‘Who is chasing down dangerous animals and rounding up gamblers?’ Faustus compressed his lips, his way to hide a smile if I ever wriggled under his defences. ‘Oh, I get it.’ Light dawned. ‘You want me to dig out sleaze?’
‘The Cicero brothers discovered that one of their opponents had murdered someone.’
‘Lucky them!’
‘I don’t expect to unearth any serious crimes,’ Faustus assured me, ‘but I need you to advise where to look for scandal.’
Vibius, who was to benefit from this, muttered anxiously, ‘All respect to your clever associate, Tiberius, but could my reputation be damaged if I use an informer?’
I was used to rudeness. ‘Set your mind at rest, Sextus Vibius. The informers you have heard about are seedy men who collect information to prosecute victims. As a woman, court work is barred to me. I help private clients on personal business; many are women. I am, hopefully, invisible to the rest of the public.’