Work occasionally had such sociable moments, often over a meal. It made me realise that although I managed well alone, I would like things to be different. Mind you, only in the right circumstances. According to my little sisters, I have impossibly high standards.
Justinus and Faustus took turns at narrating what they had learned from the tribune. Although he had not added much that was new, he coloured in some details about the gang and their influence. The tribal chief was ‘old Rabirius’, a vindictive degenerate going on eighty, whose habits were as filthy as his attitude was hard-bitten. He was born into crime; he had links with all the traditional organised crime families.
I glanced at Uncle Quintus. ‘Yes,’ he confirmed quietly. ‘His family tree runs inexorably into that of the late unlamented bugbear, Balbinus Pius − their mothers were sisters.’
Balbinus Pius had been a leading gangster who, after years of violent trafficking, thievery, the sex trade, illegal gambling and intimidation had been tracked down by my father and Uncle Petro. After his death, when his criminal empire was carved up and handed on to willing associates, most was inherited by his son-in-law, a cursed man called Florius. Many years ago and far from Rome, I fell into the clutches of this Florius. I hated him, with good reason. Even the thought of him, or anyone connected to him, agitated me.
Justinus did not explain to the aedile. I never talked about the past but Faustus was shrewd. He had caught the nuance.
My uncle, frowning, chewed an apple and fell silent as he remembered past adventures. Manlius Faustus, looking thoughtful, took up the story.
Like the Balbinus empire, the Rabirii ran lowlife bars, also engaging in stealing and prostitution rackets, much of which took place in those bars. Profits often came from minor theft too − street crime such as snatching purses, even knocking people over and grabbing their small change. Their men raided baths. The women stole from shops, leaning across counters or in through windows. The whole clan took advantage of tipsy crowds at arena festivals or religious processions, though mainly they homed in on markets. Markets provide all kinds of opportunities.
‘Petty thefts add up,’ Faustus said. ‘They also carry out a great deal of house-breaking. They have been doing all this for generations and are experts. Old Rabirius receives a share of whatever his associates obtain, so he is a very wealthy and powerful figure.’
The Rabirii rarely dabbled in white-tunic crimes such as fraud. In a city full of spies and informants, where the emperor welcomed snitches, they kept out of the authorities’ sight, never passing on information unless it served their own purpose. They were tight. They dealt with their own quarrels, and did so harshly. They operated according to a tough moral code, a code based on terror, using both extreme mental pressure and physical pain. Like many cruel people, they pretended a high belief in family — though that only meant their own; their creed excluded any respect for the families of their many victims.
If they really had stolen the Aviola silver, it would be documented by accountants who worked on their payroll, slickly disguising their procedures and real income. Needless to say, the income would never be reported as taxable, though in this they hardly differed from many legitimate businesses in Rome. The Rabirii also had access to metalworkers who would melt down illicit goods and to fences who would slide items back into sleazy retail outlets when that would be more profitable. But if the silver here had been stolen to order, that didn’t seem to fit their usual methods.
‘They work for themselves and avoid contact with “respectable” people.’
‘Does that mean,’ I asked Faustus, ‘they are not for hire — even for murders?’
‘No, they hand out plenty of violence, but the tribune thought they would be very unlikely to act as paid killers.’
‘And anyway, I suppose even they might feel sentimental about killing a new bride!’
Faustus smiled at me. ‘I doubt the Rabirii are ever sentimental.’
Justinus agreed. ‘No, and they initiate their own crimes. It is a matter of pride not to carry out dirty work for others. That they see as menial. They do commit many robberies, and they do kill. However, mostly they go for other members of their own community, as a result of professional or family grudges.’
‘I presume they escape justice for that,’ I replied bitterly, ‘because the authorities simply think one less villain has to be good news.’
‘Exactly,’ said Faustus. ‘Feuds are common. Retaliation is fast. Bad feeling may simmer for decades, though if an act of violence or vengeance is seen as justified, everyone regards it as fair punishment and quickly forgets.’
‘So as we thought,’ I summed up, ‘given their record for house-breaking, the Rabirius gang might carry out the kind of robbery that supposedly took place here − but even so, they are very unlikely to have killed Valerius Aviola and his wife.’
Both men nodded.
‘One other thing though. What about beating up the porter?’
Faustus seemed prepared for my question. ‘The tribune felt the Rabirii were quite capable of such violence, but they would never inflict it without a good reason. Unless there is something we don’t know, they would have had no social interaction with Aviola, and the porter himself, Nicostratus, would be way below their line of vision.’
‘Did the tribune suggest any other villains who might have robbed the house?’
‘No, he backed Titianus on that. Even if it was a rival gang, the Rabirii would by now have imposed a punishment − and very publicly, to reassert their supremacy.’
I tested another angle: ‘Could they harbour mavericks? Upstarts, who want to challenge the old man?’
‘Olympus, you do like to cover every feasible idea, Albia!’ Faustus in fact looked impressed. ‘It is possible. We were told there is a nephew, Roscius, the youngest of a large brood — brought up a favourite, and now testing his muscle. He specialises in burglary rather than street crime or brothel-mongering. So yes,’ Faustus concluded, ‘this nephew may be changing the pattern. The vigiles view him as the coming man. The tribune does not want to tackle him yet. His policy at present is to let Roscius run, while keeping him under observation. He won’t agree to any premature confrontation.’
‘You respect that view?’ I demanded.
‘I have to. In my role, I must work amicably with other law authorities.’
Justinus was watching us tangle.
‘Of course. So you must.’ I withdrew my objection gracefully. Faustus looked slightly alarmed by the ease with which he brought me round. Justinus hid a chuckle.
The men seemed to have convinced themselves that there was no organised crime involvement. Someone possessed the loot, however, so they had persuaded the Second’s tribune to order further enquiries at places where such silver might be sold on, putting extra pressure on retailers. Although Faustus had pretended to be satisfied that Titianus and his team had looked for the lost wine set at the apartment, he would tomorrow bring men of his own to carry out a discreet new search: a search of this house, plus the adjoining apartments and shops, then extending to the rest of the street if it could be done quietly.
‘I’ll tell my men not to be heavy-handed. Titianus need never know we have doubled up on his work. Householders won’t go running to him to complain.’
‘It’s certainly not the normal way of conducting an apartment-to-apartment search!’ I commented.
At this point, Uncle Quintus stretched and hauled himself off the couch. He begged to be excused; he wanted to go home in time to see his children put to bed. He was a good father, but even if that had not been the case, Claudia Rufina ruthlessly extracted a certain domesticity as payoff for his slightly untrustworthy past.