He apologised if he had been a long time. ‘That place opposite serves sewer silt. I had to walk down to the other one. I met an old codger who wanted to talk about Polycarpus. Nothing pertaining to the death, but the old fellow would go on. Apparently the steward was very friendly.’
‘His modus,’ I said. ‘He kept in with everyone around here. I can imagine he would generously share some listening time with a maundering grandfather — though when he had had enough, I bet Polycarpus also knew how to go on his way without causing offence.’
‘I never seem to manage that,’ Titianus confided. He spoke with an innocence that reminded me of my late husband.
‘It’s a knack.’ I let myself reply consolingly, even though I thought it was a knack anyone who joined the vigiles ought to have mastered by their third day. ‘Did you find out anything from the old man?’
‘Polycarpus had had a moan about Aviola intending to give his job to someone else.’
‘Bad feeling against his master?’
‘Well, the old ’un said Polycarpus wasn’t exactly pleased. You can’t blame him.’
‘Polycarpus lined up something else for himself as soon as Aviola died.’ I said. ‘He had a good reputation. He was always going to find a place.’
We ate. Titianus drank. I merely sipped. I would enjoy the wine more on my own in peace, after he had gone. I could have a melancholy reminisce about Lentullus, my husband. I did that occasionally, often when a case was proving troublesome. You have to share with someone. At least the dead don’t argue with you about it.
Not that Lentullus ever argued much with me. The dear lad thought anything I said was wonderful.
It was ten years since the gods took him, though it felt like only as many days. Poor Graecina had no idea yet what she would have to go through.
As he mellowed with a drink, curiosity got the better of Titianus. He had to ask me about the man captured in the attack on Camillus Justinus two days ago. Of course he knew that my uncle had been to see his tribune before that. I caught a hint of grumpiness; Titianus evidently thought Justinus and Faustus went over his head. As of course they did.
‘I hope you don’t resent them,’ I said, aiming to win him over with frankness. At least I was able to assure Titianus that the male-only meeting when they saw his tribune was nothing to do with me.
‘They made themselves marked men when they interfered. Old Rabirius is bound to have heard about it. You must be glad not to be identified as their associate, Albia.’
I did not tell Titianus that it was me who had spoken to Gallo. Titianus clearly didn’t know that. He certainly would not approve. He was not as stubbornly ‘traditional’ as, say, that funeral director I saw this morning, Fundanus, but anyone who works with the vigiles hates women joining in their games.
‘So you think it’s obvious the attack on Camillus was set up by this gang?’ I pretended to ask for an expert opinion.
‘Seems likely.’ Titianus preened himself. This might have been easier if he ever bothered to have a good lotion on his awful hair. ‘I heard that their henchman, Gallo, went strutting to the Fourth’s barracks, asking for the captured man to be released.’
‘No — really?’ I cooed.
‘Gallo must have thought they were bound to hand him over.’ Titianus sounded as though he had supposed the same. ‘Apparently their tribune uses a different protocol. He refused outright.’ Titianus whistled, either in astonishment or admiration, it was hard to tell.
‘I am amazed as you are, Titianus. What did Gallo do?’
‘He abandoned the man, apparently. Just scowled, walked off, and left him to his fate.’
‘Did the fellow talk?’ I had no need to ask. Of course he did. The Fourth can do their job.
‘I believe the screams were terrible,’ Titianus told me salaciously.
‘What will be done with him? The usual?’
‘Correct. He’ll never resurface on the streets. He’ll be among the criminals labelled “tunic-thief” and “sheep-abuser” in the morning arena show.’
I kept playing my part, looking innocent. ‘When the slashing is fast and routine, while nobody in the audience is paying too much attention to the pieces of meat getting killed? Do you think the Rabirius gang will go to watch?’
‘Bound to. They will show proper respect to their own,’ Titianus surmised. ‘After that, we may have some crap to deal with. Maybe the fellow’s mother will start harbouring horrible bitterness because Gallo abandoned him. One of their family feuds may blow up. Blood at the barber’s. Some senior Rabirius stiffed over his lobster stew at lunch, while gang members look the other way and hope they won’t be next.’
‘A lot of plotting at funerals,’ I agreed.
‘Even the great Gallo may wind up thrown into a stinking alley with a knife between his shoulder-blades — for dumping the fellow.’
‘All very colourful, Titianus.’
We sat in silence for a while. Then I pointed out that − thinking of gangsters — in order to be absolutely thorough, we ought to investigate whether it was the Rabirii who had now strangled the steward.
‘We’ being Titianus and me. And ‘investigate’ requiring a visit to the gang.
33
Lunch is a wonderful mechanism. Some chunks of bread, a few scraps of ham, a bowl of cherries. Washed down with mediocre bar-room wine, this was enough to woo Titianus. It probably helped that he rarely shared investigations with anybody. He may have had a deputy he didn’t trust, or a low-level bunch of door-knockers who took orders from him if he could think of any orders to give, but normally he worked on his own. Now he believed I was his friend. If I suggested a jape, he had to fall in with it.
He was too nervous to approach the grandee, Rabirius, in person. Instead, I managed to persuade him to tackle young Roscius. Titianus would have to find out the nephew’s haunts, which he would do that afternoon. He went back to the barracks, planning to oil up Juventus, the gangster liaison officer. Titianus believed he could squeeze him without arousing suspicion. According to him, Juventus was not very bright.
I sympathised with him, for having to deal with idiots at work.
We agreed to meet up early next morning when Titianus said Roscius would be out and about and accessible, collecting cash for the old man. I spent the rest of the afternoon double-checking the neighbourhood for people who could have seen anything in connection with the steward’s death. No luck, needless to say. Although Polycarpus had made himself friendly with everyone, no one would cause inconvenience to themselves by coming forward as a witness.
I wrote a report for Faustus. I first outlined the reasons why the case had seemed to be dying on us. After that, much of my news concerned Polycarpus, but I did slide in a mention that Titianus had agreed to make further contact with the gang. I did not say I was going with him. I sent Dromo off, then spent a quiet evening by myself before an early night.
I should have realised Faustus would guess what I was up to. So next morning who should come breezing into the apartment but my client. He was dressed not in his aedile’s purple stripes, but the street clothes he wore for going undercover.
He did not trouble to chastise me. He acted as if his presence was a lucky coincidence. But he stuck there until Titianus turned up, then he came out with us. I acted as if I was perfectly happy to have Manlius Faustus do that. No choice really.
Titianus looked wary. Annoyed, I saw that he thought I had deliberately sent for Faustus who, in his eyes, was tainted by visiting the tribune. Even with the aedile disguised as an unshaven lout in a shabby brown tunic, Titianus was never going to like him. This busted up his and my relationship as cronies, jeopardising Titianus’ willingness to be frank. Well, thank you, aedile!