"Friend of mine. Corpses are his hobby." My tone was brusque.
"I thought he worked on the docks… What's his official role?" This time Popillius addressed the governor.
"Eyewitness," snapped back Frontinus. "He saw the corpse pulled out of the river."
Popillius did not buy it. "Is he working for you, sir?" Frontinus was mild. "He has excellent credentials, but other people own him."
"People in Rome?"
"It is no secret." Either Frontinus had drunk too much tonight, or he was angrier than we realized that an officer had been sent here without due clearance. Before I could stop him he came out with it: "He's a member of the vigiles."
"Then," retorted the lawyer, as if he had scored a brilliant point, "he has no jurisdiction here!"
"That's right," agreed Frontinus, sorting out the best remaining almond cakes on a comport. He was calm, and said almost satirically, "I am outraged to find him working in my province. If he discovers any dirty secrets I shall confiscate the evidence, and if he incriminates anyone, I shall claim all the credit." Chin jutting, he leaned forward from the seat on which he had plumped down. Before he popped an almond cake in his mouth he told Popillius in a much harder tone, "Anyone who enables me to stamp hard on criminal organizers is welcome in Londinium."
Popillius could hardly rebuke Julius Frontinus, legate of Augustus, for wanting to run a clean town. The lawyer thanked Aelia Camilla for his dinner, then went home.
Norbanus had been watching with some amusement. "A jurisdiction problem?" he inquired.
Frontinus felt the need to add to his earlier statement: "I know Petronius Longus. I would bring him in on permanent secondment, but the Prefect of the Urban Cohorts won't release him; he's too good!"
"Oh, so that's what he does," exclaimed Norbanus in a silky tone. I felt uneasy, but he turned back to Maia.
Petronius stood up. He came back toward us, walking straight past Maia without looking at her. Aelia Camilla jumped to her feet, met him, and hugged him briefly. She passed him on to Helena, who was still weeping for him, so she too quickly embraced him and passed him straight to me. His face was drawn, and I could not help but notice that his cheeks were wet. He accepted our sympathy but was somewhere else, lost in suffering; he had different points of reference and different priorities.
He continued toward the house. "Stay with us here, at least for tonight," urged Aelia Camilla, calling out after him. He looked back and nodded once, then went indoors alone.
Norbanus must have watched this short scene with even more curiosity; I heard Maia explaining, "A close friend of the family who has had a bereavement. We are all very fond of him."
"Poor man." We could not expect Norbanus to show real sympathy. For one thing, he must be wondering just how close a friend to Maia this friend she was very fond of might have been. It was clear that a good guest would take his leave at such a sad moment, so this Norbanus did. Maia found the grace to go along and see him out.
As soon as they were beyond earshot, I suggested to Hilaris that we have Norbanus tailed. I still viewed him with suspicion. It was impossible that he would return to his downriver villa after dark; taking a boat would be unsafe. So I wanted to discover where he stayed in town. A discreet observer set off after the Norbanus carrying chair when he called for it; luckily he had dallied at the door for conversation with Maia, so our man was securely in place when Norbanus left the residence.
I went for a late-night drink with Hilaris in his study, while we compared notes and relaxed in private. We had always gotten on well. We talked for much longer than I realized. When I left him to join Helena in our room, all the corridors lay silent, dimly lit by earthenware oil lamps on side tables or spaced at intervals along the floor. The slaves had cleared up long ago.
Wearily I made my way to the suites where houseguests were lodged. To my disgust even at that late hour, I ran into the damned harpist, loitering with his spotty boy. I told them to clear off, making a vow to have Maia return them to Norbanus next day. She could be polite about it, but we were overdue to shed the nosy pair.
I badly wanted to be with Helena, but first I went to check on Petronius. He and I had had fifteen years of seeing each other through troubles; Helena would expect me to offer him solace. That meant if he was drinking, I would either join in or stop him. If he wanted to talk I would listen. Hades, if the poor lad was sleeping, I would even tuck him in.
But another kind of comfort was on offer: I spotted Maia ahead of me. As I approached his door, I saw her knock quickly and go in. To reach my own room, I had to pass outside. Maia, stupidly, had left the door ajar. Maybe she thought she would be thrown out. Anyway, I could not carry on without them seeing me; once again I had been put in a position where I had to overhear my sister like a spy.
"Petronius." Maia simply spoke his name. It was more to let him hear she was there than anything.
There was a faint light from an oil lamp that must be over by his bed. I could see Petro, stripped to bare feet and an unbleached undertunic; he was standing in front of a window, leaning on the sill, letting the night air fall on him. He did not turn around.
"This is no good," Maia advised him. "Sleep. You need to rest."
"I can't."
"What are you doing, then?"
"Nothing." He did turn. He showed her empty hands. But he had a
full heart. "Nothing at all. Remembering Silvana and Tadia. Waiting for the pain to end."
"Some of it will pass," my sister said.
Petronius swore coarsely.
"Well, that ends the comforting part of the evening in good masculine style!" quipped Maia.
"I don't want people being bloody kind-I get upset." He stepped toward her then, so in the small room they were standing close. "I don't want pitying or chivvying-and I don't want your sniping wit. Either go, Maia-or damn well stay!"
"Which do you choose?" asked Maia, but the question was rhetorical for they had moved into each other's arms.
When they kissed it was neither young love blossoming nor established [love reasserting itself. This was something much darker. They were both joyless and desperate. The way they had come together was deliberate and carnal; it struck me that nothing good would come of it for either of them.
Freed by their self-absorption, I walked past unnoticed. I even managed to hook the door. I went on to my room, depressed.
Helena twined herself around me when I came into bed, her head falling on my shoulder in its accustomed place. I held her affectionately and stayed quiet so she fell asleep. I did not tell her what I had just seen.
XXXVII
It was barely light when hectic knocking awoke me. Running footsteps sounded outside in the corridor. There were cries of alarm; then I heard a brief order and all the noises were cut off.
Rousing myself, I flung open the bedroom door. Helena murmured behind me sleepily as light from the corridor lamps came in. A scared slave was waiting. He told me anxiously that the soldiers who were guarding our prisoners thought something had gone wrong.
Hilaris appeared. Hair ruffled, and pulling on a long-sleeved robe like some barbaric Eastern potentate, he confirmed the worst: Pyro had been found dead.
An hour of frantic activity later we had worked out something of what had happened. Perusal of the body told us beyond question that it was an unnatural death. Pyro was the bristle-chinned enforcer, not heavily built and yet a muscular, tough-looking specimen. He was about thirty-five or forty, an age when many die, but he had been well nourished in his lifetime and was suffering from no obvious disease. He had not been told that the torturer was coming to work on him, but even if he guessed, none of us believed this hardened brute had died of fear or killed himself.
His lips and mouth showed faint indications of corrosion burn: poison. The soldiers admitted they had found him collapsed, though he was still living at that stage. When they tried to revive him, he suffered fits. [He was unable to speak and appeared to be paralyzed. Afraid of being disciplined for not watching him more closely, they had worked on him themselves-well, soldiers always believe they know better than doctors. He died. They then wasted what must have been a couple more hours debating what to do.