‘And it could have been me, if the Rabirii know that Justinus and I visited the tribune together-’
‘They are bound to have that information. Vigiles barracks leak information like worn-out gourds.’
‘The question is, Albia — did the gang act because they were guilty of the theft and they don’t want us finding out?’
‘Or do they just want to frighten us?’
‘To avoid attention? − If so, they have attracted even more.’
‘Yes, but they thought they were in control. They won’t have planned on having a man arrested.’
‘Right. Now if we can prove he has a connection to them, they are in trouble. Their best choice was no action at all …’ The aedile sounded urgent. ‘I am worried about tomorrow, Albia. Aelianus has arranged to visit the Fourth Cohort’s tribune.’ Because my uncle had been attacked almost on his own doorstep, the crime came under the jurisdiction of our local vigiles. ‘He couldn’t get to see the man tonight, but he’s anxious to liaise directly, first thing. He has asked me to be there.’
‘You saw Aulus when he came home?’
‘Briefly.’
That was him; never a great one for chat. ‘Tiberius, why so worried? You can handle a tribune. In the Fourth it’s Cassius Scaurus. You know him; he’s just a bully and an imbecile. But he won’t bully you.’
For once Faustus coughed with amusement. ‘It’s when he tries to stop looking like an imbecile that I find him scary — such a terrible actor … No, I’m really cursing over the search for the missing Aviola silver. If I am over here, supporting Aelianus, I cannot be there to supervise.’
‘Stick with him. I can be at the Esquiline in time. Let me exercise a watching brief.’ Always a useful phrase. State officials use ‘watching brief’ to imply they will be observing an activity, yet will not interfere. That leaves them free to interfere like energetic billygoats.
Faustus fell for it. That is how I knew he was exhausted. Otherwise he would have seen through my innocent-sounding offer.
There was a noise, a small thump somewhere, behind or near to an open second-floor window in a room above the garden. It could just be a pigeon shifting in a gutter, or an eavesdropper.
In a house like this there would be slaves everywhere. Some might be close by in the very shadows here, tucked up behind the battered fountain or curled on a mat under the jasmine on the trellis. Possibly they were sleeping, perhaps they were listening to us. There was no moon and the sky must be full of haze because only a few faint stars could be glimpsed in the open square between the pantiled roofs around the courtyard.
Quintus and Claudia would rely on the slaves’ loyalty to them and their immediate family. As visitors, that might not extend to Faustus and me. Slaves were human. And we lived in a poisoned city, where a paranoid emperor had caused often-lethal mistrust.
Caution ruled.
Faustus and I stood up to leave. I felt a light touch of the aedile’s hand in the small of my back, guiding me to the colonnade. He had blown out his lamp, risking a stumble over some abandoned mop and bucket but enabling him to glide invisibly back to his guest room, assuming he could remember the way. He whispered goodnight and I did the same. At the end of the corridor I glanced back, but it was too dark to see him. I had no idea whether those grey eyes were surveying me. All he would have seen if he looked was a shadow and a faint pinpoint of light from my tiny oil lamp.
The discussion was worth having. It had eased my mind. Back in my room, I fell asleep in moments.
27
I was up very early, though had already missed Faustus and Aelianus. They went to see Cassius Scaurus at very first light. The vigiles do most of their work at night, while they are fire-watching, so the best time to catch any of them is at the end of the watch. Scaurus rarely went out with the foot patrols but he would have to be in his office when the men returned to base with prisoners and reports. He gathered in the human trash not only from his headquarters team, but the lads at the out-station up on the Aventine, which was my local.
As I poked around trying in vain to find someone to give me breakfast, I envisaged the scene at the station house this morning. Among the usual bunch of feckless householders who had left braziers burning unsafely and needed a pompous lecture on responsibility, Scaurus would be thrilled to find a hardened criminal who had been caught in the act. This signalled fun. He might not welcome a Daily Gazette report on the mugging of a senator in the Twelfth District, but he would love holding a villain from the Second Cohort’s patch. Scaurus could annoy the Second by retaining him for as long as he wanted, then when he grew bored with this simple entertainment he could shunt the fellow back to his opposite number, leaving his counterpart stuck with any tricky decisions and all the tiresome form-filling.
There was time before I was needed at the Esquiline. I decided I had to see it.
I could not find Dromo. None of the Camillus slaves would agree to wake up and take me, especially after all the excitement yesterday. Luckily it was early enough to hope no one dangerous was out on the streets. Never mind safety precautions, I could move faster on my own.
First I dropped in to check on Uncle Quintus. He seemed to be drowsing, though the poppy juice had worn off so there were fitful movements and groans. Claudia must have gone to bed; she would want to be rested to cope with today. One of their sons had crept downstairs and lay curled up beside his father.
‘Looking after him?’ The child — I think it was the one called Constans — nodded. He was afraid I was going to send him back to his own room, but I ruffled his hair and left him. He looked about seven, worried and tear-stained. Uncle Quintus would not want this young soul sent off on his own in a state of such anxiety. ‘Good boy. Try not to worry; he’s getting better. I have to go out. Will you tell your mother I went to see Uncle Aulus?’
After another nod, Constans said suddenly, ‘That boy left.’
‘Who?’ Surely not Dromo?
‘The lamp boy who came with you. He went home to see his dog.’
‘Right. I hope he can find the way all by himself …’
‘I don’t like him.’
I paused, on my way out. ‘The lantern holder? Why not, Constans?’ He shrugged. ‘He’s just a slave. Did he do something to you?’ A headshake.
My nephew lost interest. He put his thin arm around his father and buried his face against Quintus’ side. I went over and gently placed a light rug over both of them before I slipped away.
I can be a sickroom attendant. I just had no time to hang about right then.
The streets were quiet, apart from stallholders unrolling their awnings and setting out their stock. At one bar someone was doling out hot broth to market workers, but most places still had their shutters closed. Occasionally I passed a sleepy public slave sweeping up the sad remains of last night’s parties, which were best not examined closely. The air felt thin and chilly as if the city had not yet properly opened its lungs. Overhead was cloudless, though washed out, in the waiting period before the sun burned the mist off the river and turned the sky to its hot summer blue.
The Fourth Cohort’s station house stood at low level on the lesser of the Aventine’s two heights, beside the Clivus Triarius. The troops at the end of a long shift should have been too tired to call indecent suggestions after me but, well done those boys, they bravely managed it. I looked straight ahead and kept going. The catcalls had nothing to do with me being unchaperoned. Dromo would have been no help.
The Fourth Cohort had held the prisoner in special custody all night. By the time I arrived, inevitably he had talked. I did not ask what persuaded him to speak. I had lived long enough around investigators to be sure I preferred not to know. I never saw him, nor even knew his name.