After a long time, my sister asked me, "Do you think he knows?"
"What?"
She explained patiently, "Do you think someone else has already told him, and he has gone back home without informing us?"
I knew why she asked. That would be just like him. Speaking about his loss would be too painful, and he would be angered by fuss. While others flapped and increased his anguish with well-meaning hysteria, he would want to move, fast.
But I also knew how Petronius would have gone about it. Every debt settled up. Then the swift, scrupulous packing. Each bootstrap, tunic, and memento neatly positioned in his luggage roll. He might take himself off, but it would be evident that he had packed up and gone home.
"He still doesn't know. He is somewhere. I am certain."
"Why?" demanded Maia.
"All his gear is in his room."
Well, all except the stuff he would need if he was doing something dangerous.
Maia breathed harshly. "Then you have to find him, Marcus." I knew that. The only problem was, I had no idea where to start looking.
XV
How could I work?
Yesterday had been arduous. Today started well, but from lunchtime, with its dreadful news, everything fell apart. All anyone wanted was to go into huddles to discuss this shock. The only person who talked sense, in terms I recognized, was Helena.
"Petronius may be anywhere in town, or he may even have traveled away. Don't waste energy, Marcus. He will resurface when he's ready. In the meantime, what's lost?"
"From his point of view, nothing," I agreed somberly.
"Silvia and the poor surviving child won't be expecting anything from him yet. Once he knows, he will rush home to them."
"Bight. Better let him finish whatever he's up to." He would need a free mind to cope. If he had swanned off with some woman, this would be the wrong moment to break bad news; he would feel guilty forever. If he was drinking, better let him sober up.
"And whatever," Helena asked narrowly, "can he be up to here in Britain anyway?"
"No idea." She glared at me. "Honest, sweetheart; I really have no idea." We both sank into reverie. After a long time, Helena said, "He has only been gone a day."
A day and a night. Somehow I did not expect to see him back in the near future.
I had to do something. He would not thank me for this, but I did it anyway. I drew up a missing-person sheet that Frontinus could issue to the legionaries.
L. Petronius Longus, Roman male of thirty-four years, freeborn; good height; serious build; brown hair; brown eyes. If subject spotted, observe and notify governor's office. Do not approach or arrest subject. Do not insult, beat up, or otherwise maltreat subject. If forced to make your presence known, urge subject's immediate contact with the governor's office and withdraw.
Do not inform subject his heart is about to be broken, lads. Leave it to the old cliche, the appropriate quarters. This filthy task is detailed to his best friend.
I did go out to look for him. I wandered about all afternoon. All I found were Marius and his dog, peering shyly into bars. I took them home. On the way, we ran into Maia and Cloelia. They claimed they were out shopping. I took them home too.
As we arrived back at the procurator's house, a swirl of horsemen and a carriage rattled up to its stately portico. That was all I needed: King Togidubnus had wasted no time and had already arrived. Since I still had no information or explanations on who had drowned his disgraced retainer, I was the one who would probably catch most of the crud the King threw-plus anything else Julius Frontinus added, hoping it would seem any lack of progress on the case was not his fault.
Part of me did not care. A trousered killer had been killed himself, and if it started a war, well, at the moment I quite felt like a good war with somebody.
There is a special atmosphere in official buildings when a political crisis starts.
At one level everything continued as normal. Aelia Camilla ran her household quietly, showing by only the faintest frown that she anticipated difficulty in keeping mealtimes properly. The governor, the procurator, various officials, and the agitated King were all in conference behind closed doors. Efficient slaves came and went, carrying scrolls or refreshment trays. They were keyed up with excitement; there was a sense that routine business would be overridden. The diary was being scrapped: meetings that had been fixed for weeks were canceled or hastily rearranged. Dispatch riders and signalers were held at the ready. Arriving messengers were grounded in a side room and crisply advised that they would have to wait because of the flap. Local officers and officials were summoned in a hurry; escorted in; then they left again in double-quick time, most looking as though they had somehow been caught out.
Nobody said what was happening. This was top-grade secret, with triple wax seals.
I myself was never called in. It suited me. And I understood: the governor was trying to appease the King before we admitted how little progress we had made.
On the cusp of afternoon and evening, Flavius Hilaris appeared briefly. "How's it going?"
He smiled wryly. "Could be worse."
"Could be better?"
He nodded, looking tired. "Frontinus and I are dining the King strictly in private this evening. Out of respect for his grief." And to keep him incommunicado for a while longer, no doubt. "He has seen the body-" I had not been aware that people emerged for an undertaker's visit. I wondered if the corpse had been brought here. "The governor has agreed that a cremation may be held tomorrow; in the circumstances, very discreet. I shall go, as a friend and neighbor of the King. Official representation is ruled out, in view of Verovolcus' disgrace. It will just be Britons from his home district."
"Want me to attend?"
"Frontinus thinks not." Luckily, I never believed that myth about murderers turning up to watch when their victims are being dispatched to Hades. Few murderers are that stupid.
"It's a funeral Roman-style?" I asked.
"Pyre and urn," Gaius confirmed. "The King is fully Romanized." He saw my face. "Yes, I know it's not his funeral. But he is Roman enough always to take charge!" I liked this man's enduring quiet humor.
I wondered what ceremony Verovolcus would have chosen for himself. Did he see himself as this much in tune with Rome? I doubted it. Would he really have opted for cremation in a haze of scented oils-or would he want to be buried with his severed skull between his knees, among his weapons and rich grave goods?
"And what kind of grief is the King showing, Gaius?"
"He knew Verovolcus from childhood. So despite whatever has happened, Togidubnus is depressed. He's threatening to send his own boys in to scratch around for information."
"No harm in it," I said. "I've done every possible initial check for witnesses. Let the Britons go over everything again if they wish. They may stir up something-or if not, at least Togidubnus may believe we did our best."
A senior clerk came to speak to him. Gaius had to go. He paused only to warn me that a formal meeting with the King had been arranged for me tomorrow morning. (I guessed I would also be called to a premeeting with Gaius and the governor at the crack of dawn, as they panicked over what I might say) Then he asked if Helena and I would assist his wife in entertaining guests from the local community who were to dine here tonight. More earnest importers: I was not enthralled, but canceling their invitation would cause too many questions, and somebody ought to play host. I told the weary procurator he could rely on us.
Aelia Camilla could have managed the dinner single-handed. As a diplomat's wife she was well used to such events, and probably used to supervising them when Gaius was suddenly called away. But Helena and Maia were already dressing to help her, and she welcomed their support.
I would become the male host, virtually a diplomatic role. It was a major shift upward for an informer. It meant a clean-shaven face and a toga. It also meant I had to be pleasant, even though being pleasant did not suit my mood.