'Ah, one of those!' Laeta pretended to be a crime expert. 'No one has ever suggested the Claudii are that bad.'
'When such murderers are exposed, people are always surprised,' I pointed out. 'He kept to himself, but he never seemed violent. None of us had any idea – that's how repeat killers get away with it. Only with hindsight does it all seem bloody obvious.'
I was supposed to have the reputation for mischief, but it was Petro who asked, 'You came up through the imperial household yourself, Laeta. Did you ever encounter these backwoodsmen? Were you slaves together?'
Claudius Laeta battled a shudder. 'No; absolutely not. Though it's a small world. I am sure you could find palace staff who have met them in the past… But during their time in the imperial familia, these were merely low-grade rural slaves. It is said they worked originally at a villa beloved of the Emperor Augustus at Antium. Nero tore it down – how typical of the man – - and rebuilt on a scale that he fancied was more glamorous. Probably at that time the Claudii were deemed superfluous. You know, there is a difference between rough country slaves, labouring anonymously in the fields as shepherds, mowers, tillers or harvesters, and those of us who are fortunate enough to be trained for duties close to emperors.'
'Understood!' Petronius could be a bastard. 'So, they were batch field workers…' He kept pushing. 'Your paths never crossed?'
'No.' Laeta remained polite but cold. 'You could ask Momus,' he added offhandedly to me. He managed to imply I had no scruples in my choice of personal contacts.
Momus started life as a gruesome slave-overseer. Since he lacked both intellect and morals, he had been assigned to a palace audit section; according to him, his job description was to audit the spies. Interpreting that as an order to cut staff numbers, Momus strove to make Anacrites fall down a very deep well or float off a high parapet. I got on well with Momus. Laeta, who was more fastidious, regarded him as a major disease – - but possibly useful.
'He is foul – though he knows the slave rostas. I intend to have a chat!' I assured Laeta happily. Now Laeta was wondering if Momus knew any secrets about him and would Momus tell me? 'Careful intelligence will be needed on this case, Laeta. I suppose it's a coup for you, grabbing the job from Anacrites?'
'So sad for him.' Claudius Laeta beamed, a disconcerting sight. 'I hear the Emperor has posted dear Anacrites on a mission to Istria -insultingly straightforward and boringly diplomatic. Here, he could have been gaining praise by saving the Emperor from association with the menace of the Claudii – Anacrites will be livid!'
Laeta was smiling. Petronius Longus and I were smiling too. The job stank. But we were all united in a bond of happiness that we had a chance to snatch credit away from the Chief Spy.
Before we left, Laeta found it in himself to say to me, a little awkwardly, 'I was so sorry to hear about your father and your child, Falco.'
He had left it too late in the conversation. It failed to come over as genuine. I brushed his condolences aside.
XIV
As we left, Petronius and I took a detour past the smelly hutch Momus normally occupied; there was no sign of him. I did not make enquiries. Momus was grisly; I preferred not to know about his leisure time. His room must have been shabby to start with, but he had let it grow squalid; in a palace full of slaves with buckets and sponges he had no need to endure this. Even Petronius, who saw the world's worst in his work for the vigiles, raised an eyebrow at the rancid accommodation.
On the opposite side of a long corridor lay Anacrites' office. Now we knew he was away, I opened the door and invited Petro inside. They had met a couple of times and Petro had a personal interest. Anacrites, who made a habit of hanging around my family, at one time took a shine to Maia. Maia saw through him; sensing he was dangerous, she backed out of whatever relationship they had. His response was to send men who trashed her home, terrifying Maia and her four young children. Even now, Anacrites could not see how that vicious action only proved she was right to drop him.
I would pay him back. He thought he had got away with it. He still hung around my mother as if she had adopted him, and he greeted me like an old, affectionate colleague. He would learn.
The good result had been Maia taking up with Petro soon afterwards. He knew her story. He, too, had not forgotten. Like me, he was determined to deal with Anacrites one day, one day at the right moment.
The spy's room was cramped but at least clean. It had an almost medical smell; I had always noticed that, though never pinpointed the source. One of his staff must have endemic veruccas, or enduring the spy day in and day out had given someone migraines.
We strolled over and squinted sideways at the stuff on his table, deliberately shifting pens and styluses in subtle ways, to worry him when he came back. Everything had been laid out pedantically; he was bound to notice changes.
There were no confidential tablets; Anacrites was tenaciously secretive. Petronius looked with longing at some secured cupboards, but we were not in a mood to force locks. Usually, however late it was, our bugbear had a dandruffy clerk or one of his dreadful agents moping in here with him. As soon as he was sent abroad, they must have all rushed off. The room was strangely still and quiet. The strife and duplicity that emanated from it had been placed on hold.
We stared around, then Petronius shook his head slightly, bemused. I wriggled my shoulders as if to slough off the very air the spy had breathed. We left without a word.
By the time we emerged from the rambling old buildings, the night had taken a shift onwards. Still simmering with remains of the day's heat, Rome had become its darker self. Families and workers were back in their homes. The streets now carried streams of delivery carts, each alley ringing with the trundle of battered wooden wheels and the bloody-minded curses of crude drivers. Stray dogs ran for their lives from heavy-duty wagons that were so laden they could neither swerve nor stop in a hurry. Even the burglars and muggers who emerged at dusk kept their sandalled feet well back from the kerb. We sensed their presence, as they skulked through streets where they had conveniently blown out any lamps. None of them bothered us. We looked too capable.
I saw Petronius savour the warm air, trying to tell whether various wafts of smoke from baths and cookshops meant fire duty for the vigiles. He was in full professional mode, alert for any kind of trouble.
He and I made a few quick plans as we strolled, via the winding lane at the foot of the Capitol, back to our own haunts. He then returned to the patrol house, up on the Aventine. I watched him go, with that familiar fast, loping stride. Quietly I continued along the Marble Embankment to my house.
XV
'Marcus' darling, you should be ashamed! Why ever didn't you tell us about the funeral?'
Let's call Marina my sister-in-law, though it had always been a title of convenience. She and my legionary brother, Festus, had never lived together, though the ditsy dumpling claimed they would have done, but for his tactlessness in getting himself killed. She still made out our scamp would have settled down on his return – a concept he guffawed at, as I more accurately recollected. Suggestions of marriage always made Festus need a very large veal pie and so much drink to wash it down he would fall unconscious on the caupona counter.
Still, he had loved children. Once Marina had a baby we all agreed to accept as fathered by Festus, she needed somebody to sponge off. The Didius family pitied her plight. We understood want. We admired efficient begging too. Little Marcia was a dear child (possibly a factor that should make us think she was not ours), so we subsidised Marina for her daughter's sake. I say 'we'. The others always left the fine details to me. By details, I mean actually handing out cash.