However much this customer looked like a docket-diddler, diddling dockets was not what he did.
A typical late lunch proceeded. It was early afternoon. Anyone in a bar around now had time to spare: those who did not need to work and those whose work involved leisured negotiating. Shippers, retail middlemen, investment advisers, publishers of epic poems — and cut-throat gangsters.
At a point when the waiter was alone at a counter, I got up and walked over to him, carrying a bowl as if I wanted a refill. I asked about the man who was not really a clerk. The waiter supplied the answer I expected. Juventus had named him for us. It was Gallo, a trusted agent of the Rabirii, whom the waiter called ‘local businessmen’. He seemed unfazed at being asked.
I left the bowl on the counter. I walked across to the businessmen’s trusty, sat down at the opposite side of his table, and folded my hands neatly. From our table, Justinus let his gaze follow me, though he went on eating and drinking quietly. He was close enough to hear what was said. The casual way he chucked up olives into his mouth showed that he saw nothing unusual in me approaching a stranger to ask questions. How a highly placed gangster would react remained to be seen.
‘Please excuse me. You are eating and I won’t mess about. I believe your name is Gallo and you can put me in touch with the Rabirii.’ I made sure I spoke with heavy respect. Like my uncle, Gallo continued with his meal, no more concerned than if a wasp had landed on the table. But one wrong buzz and he would swat me. He did not appear to be armed, but I never rely on appearances.
I tried again. ‘My name is Flavia Albia. I am assisting an aedile with his investigation into the recent murders of Valerius Aviola and his wife on the Clivus Suburanus.’ At that, Gallo did flex his eyebrows. Whether it was a comment on the crime, a disparaging sneer at women in general, or at women who said they worked with magistrates, I could not tell.
He wanted to know what I wanted. Until he found out, he would not pose a threat. Afterwards, I would need to be extremely careful.
‘Bullion was taken. The Rabirius organisation is highly regarded for dealing in quality goods of the type that were liberated from the Aviola property. Mind you, if interlopers came onto your ground and carried out a robbery, unsanctioned by you, I imagine the Rabirii are extremely unhappy about it.’
Gallo gazed at me. Though his features were so unremarkable, he had very cold eyes.
I myself would not like to invade this gang’s territory. If another gang had carried out the Aviola theft, and the Rabirii knew, there would be blood on the cobbles. I almost wished there was, because the absence of local warfare suggested the Rabirii were not annoyed with anybody else. If they did the job themselves, it was scary invading their bar.
‘I’ll be frank — if you took the silver, I cannot prove it. As a woman, I may not initiate prosecutions anyway. There will be no repercussions. My interest goes beyond the theft. I am following up the murders − and I don’t believe the Rabirii were responsible. These killings were pointless, drawing attention in a way that your well-run organisation must deplore.’
I had nothing to offer, but I pushed it as brazenly as possible. ‘Surely the Rabirii want this cleared up? It must be offensive to them to have such stupidity happening in their district.’
Gallo tore bread off a loaf segment with his teeth. I don’t think he sharpened his incisors into points with a smith’s file, but he would have done if he had thought of it.
‘All right, just tell me this,’ I cajoled. ‘Aviola’s slaves are being accused of the murders. Perhaps no robbery ever took place and the slaves are bluffing. So was Aviola, or was he not, visited that night by professionals?’
Gallo finished chewing then he answered. ‘Go away, little girl.’
You can amend that mentally. ‘Go away’ was not his chosen verb.
20
‘Flavia Albia, you managed that superbly!’
There are times when I can do without a companion who employs a wicked grin. I told Uncle Quintus to go away, using the crude word I had just learned from Gallo.
We did not linger in the Galatea.
21
Quintus Camillus and I walked very slowly back to the apartment. We were both thinking, both not talking.
Dromo had woken up, in a fine panic about where I had got to. Faustus must have really given him stern orders to guard me. He glared at my uncle’s two bodyguards, jealous of anyone else with responsibilities, even though he himself resented being assigned to me. The bodyguards stalked around Dromo too, equally suspicious. They were like a group of dogs, sizing each other up on first meeting, feinting an attack with fangs bared. But each man had an eye on Quintus and me, knowing we would slap them down if there was trouble.
We left them to their devices, and went to sit in the courtyard. We discussed what we could do next about identifying the thieves, assuming they ever existed.
Quintus’ suggestion was predictable: ‘We’ll have to raise our level of engagement with the vigiles. Titianus is a lightweight and Juventus has absolutely no idea. I propose that Manlius Faustus and I hold a speedy face-to-face with the Second Cohort’s tribune. I can send a message now to tell him we are coming. That gives him time to pick his men’s brains; it’s only polite. The tribune can decide for himself, depending on his personal style of management, whether to have those idiots present, or present for part of the time.’
‘You presume “management” is what a vigiles tribune practises,’ I chortled. ‘So tell me — does the Camillus-Faustus personal style include taking me to the meet?’
My uncle wagged a finger. ‘Now you know, Albia sweetheart, if it was up to me … ’
‘Faustus approves of me.’
‘That is definitely my impression! But,’ said Quintus Camillus, turning into a paternalist Roman bastard, like them all, ‘we have to assume the tribune will be traditional. We don’t want to antagonise him, do we?’
‘I don’t mind.’
‘Ah, but Albia, we need answers, not moral confrontations.’
‘I like to use confrontations to thrash out answers.’
Quintus remained tolerant. ‘From what I have seen of your work, you can be devious. You try to avoid upsets. Hercules, Albia, let’s face it — you flirt!’
Biting my lip, I made no reply.
After a moment, Quintus added slyly, ‘So are you flirting with the aedile?’
‘You do keep on plucking on the same old lyre, Uncle.’ Quintus was laughing. We had a good relationship and I was honest with him. ‘I flirt when it’s needed, but I don’t flirt with him.’
‘Yes, he seems a little tight. Doesn’t he like your banter?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
I knew all right. Faustus liked it.
Quintus, who was shrewd in the intuitive way of my mother, his elder sister, was still laughing. I reflected privately how glad I was not to be having this conversation with Helena Justina. She could winkle things out of people that they didn’t even know they thought and felt.
It made her a wonderful partner for my father. When I worked with the Camillus brothers, as I did intermittently, we had a similar relationship, but they always tried to take over the investigation. I was better on my own.
I never despaired of finding someone else to share my work in the balanced way my parents tackled commissions together — but I did not expect it to happen.
Quintus borrowed equipment and swiftly wrote letters, one to Faustus which Dromo took, and another to the tribune, carried by one of the bodyguards.
Commenting how quiet it was here (compared to his own lively ménage, with all those children tearing about), my uncle made himself at home. He had a nap, commandeering a bed in one of the good rooms. I sunned myself in the garden.