Marcus took another sip of wine and frowned. ‘I trust your friend the censor has had more success? I presume you have made an examination of the tax records?’
The tax official inclined his head. ‘I have. As you are well aware, Excellence, all private landed property is subject to a tax. It causes some ill-feeling locally, I’m afraid, but as I always explain, since all the land in the province is ultimately the property of the Emperor, the charge is effectively a rent.’
Marcus was nodding impatiently at this — he needed no instruction in the nature of the law. ‘Of course. And all full citizens residing in the civitas are required to pay a contribution to the upkeep of the town. That is the object of the census officer.’
His irritation was quite plain to me, but the censor was imperturbable. ‘Exactly so. As a result all local landowners and citizens should be registered. However, there is no mention of a Gaius Flaminius Plautus anywhere.’ He delivered this information in a measured monotone, raising his enormous eyebrows skywards as he spoke. ‘Nor is there any record of a Lyra in my scrolls.’
Marcus looked thunderous at this, but the optio seemed pleased, if anything. Indeed he flashed me a triumphant look. I wondered if there was more information still to come.
Sure enough, the optio turned to me. ‘You talked about the street of the oil-lamp sellers, citizen. We have made enquiries. Most of the property in the area is owned by one individual, it seems. Censor, you have the information, I believe?’
The official produced a document from the folds of a pocket underneath his belt, with the air of a magician conjuring a snake. ‘I’ve had my record-keeper make a copy for you.’ He handed Marcus the scrap of parchment-bark on which the details had been scrawled in watery squid-and-lamp-black ink. ‘The owner is a certain Nyros, the current head of one of the old Silurian tribes. Unlike most of the families that did not welcome Rome, his clan seems to have successfully maintained its wealth — judging by the tax on his estate. Not only does he have a farm some distance from the town, but he owns several buildings in the civitas. He has recently financed several public works, so he may consider seeking office soon, though there is no record of his ever doing so before.’
I squinted at the document as I best I could. It was not easy from where I sat, but if I craned my neck a bit I could make out the writing, more or less. Marcus saw what I was doing, and, aware of his own dignity, snatched the sheet away. ‘I suppose he rents the building to this Lyra person, and takes a portion of the profits from the house. That’s not unusual.’
The censor nodded. ‘I agree. That is almost certainly the arrangement, although according to the record the rent is very small, no doubt in consideration of certain. . hmmm. . privileges with the wares.’
The optio looked horrified, but Marcus actually laughed. Before his marriage he had enjoyed a certain reputation of his own — though, given the rumours of his imperial lineage, it is doubtful he ever had to pay for services. ‘He prefers the proprietor herself, perhaps?’
The censor looked comically shocked. ‘Indeed not, Excellence. The keeper of the lupinarium is not. . hmmm. . a practitioner herself — at least not to the general populace. It is rumoured that she does have one wealthy customer — most wolf-house madams do — who keeps her for his own exclusive use.’
‘Do we know who he is and where he lives?’
He shook his head. ‘The girls refer to him as Optimus, but that is most likely a name he gave himself to cover up his true identity. These men insist on anonymity — it keeps their dalliances from their wives. According to my understanding, anyway.’
Marcus said, ‘How do you know all this?’ and the censor had the grace to look abashed.
He coughed. ‘Oh, it is general gossip in the town. And she goes to him, he doesn’t come to her, which keeps it all discreet. He must be someone rich and powerful to afford that sort of service. It’s what every customer would like — someone experienced but not diseased. Not that I have any familiarity with that sort of thing, of course.’
The optio said, ‘Really?’ in a chilly tone.
The censor seemed to realise that he’d said too much. His bullfrog cheeks turned dully red and he added hastily, ‘However, as I say, Lyra is not mentioned anywhere in the records. The building is officially rented to a Tholiramanda, or something of the sort.’ The eyebrows indicated his disdain. ‘You will see it on the copy I have given you.’
Marcus glanced briefly at the document and handed it to me. ‘And what do you think is the significance of that?’
I saw the obvious immediately. ‘It’s the same woman. Tholira-manda — Lyra for short — it trips more easily off the Latin tongue. I’m sure that is the answer, Excellence!’ I exclaimed. ‘That’s simply the Latin of her full Celtic name. She rents the house and runs it for her patron.’
I was pleased with my deduction, but Marcus seemed unmoved. ‘I suppose she does. Most brothel-keepers do. There’s nothing to prevent that, under law. He might even be this Optimus.’
The censor shook his head. ‘Nyros lives out of town. She goes to see her client overnight, sometimes, so he must live in Venta. Or that’s what I’ve been told!’ He saw that he’d betrayed himself again, and hid his discomfiture in another drink.
‘We’ll find out soon enough when she arrives,’ my patron said. ‘Has she been found yet, optio?’
The optio was agitated now. ‘Not as yet, Excellence. I sent a guard to the wolf-house, but she had not yet returned. But never fear. She will not escape us very long.’
Marcus hummphed. ‘She seems to be elusive, suddenly. I wonder why? The brothel itself is legal, I presume?’
The tax-recorder was still scarlet-faced. ‘Your Excellence is quite correct. It is all entirely within the law. I’ve looked into it before. Her girls have all got proper licences. She does not receive general customers herself, but even if she did she is not a married woman or a citizen so there would be no case for impropriety. And it’s all quite clean and organised — or so I hear, though naturally I’ve never patronised the place.’
That wasn’t how Lupus had described the place to me. I saw what he meant about Lyra’s having influence with the authorities. I glanced towards the optio, but he was at pains to make it clear that he was not interested in the censor’s private vice. He signalled to the slave to bring another jug of wine, saying at the same time, with a puzzled frown. ‘But it is odd. If the citizen Libertus is right about the name — and of course that remains to be investigated — one would expect this Nyros to be her guardian in matters of the law too. But that is not the case. There is a butcher, from the bath-house end of town, who claims to be a sort of relative and acts as her representative in court.’
‘Court?’ Marcus demanded sharply.
I had an answer to that one myself. ‘I’ve heard that she’s been summoned to the law-courts once or twice, when customers have complained of being robbed while on her premises.’
‘So she has family?’ Marcus swallowed almost all his wine, clearly startled by the picture this had conjured up — the kinswoman of a respectable tradesman running a wolf-house on the side. ‘Doesn’t this fellow put a rein on her?’
‘Not that I’m aware,’ the optio answered. ‘On two occasions he appeared in court on her behalf, and both of the complainants dropped the charge.’
‘So his connection with Lyra is well known in the town?’
The optio inclined his head. ‘Indeed, but it is obvious that he tolerates her trade. More than that, he positively helps. He’s a big man, and she calls on his physical protection too from time to time — no drunken client of her establishment would ever argue with him more than once.’
Another possible candidate for Optimus, I thought — but again the details didn’t seem to fit. A butcher was not a wealthy citizen, and a relative would hardly be a client. It did occur to me to wonder fleetingly if Plautus might be the man, but I dismissed the thought. Until his theatrically staged demise, Plautus had lived in Glevum, more than a day’s journey to the east. Lyra could scarcely have visited him ‘overnight’.