Justinus and Lentullus rushed forward. As always in a crisis, Lentullus knew no fear; he acted before he thought, then he fainted with terror afterwards. That was how he had nearly lost his leg. Now he grabbed the ferocious, snarling dog with both hands around its neck as it leapt at us. He hung on, intent on saving his beloved master. The man from the shack loped after the dog and lunged for it feebly; more by luck than judgement, he looped a chain around its heavy neck and clapped on a padlock. 'Good boy, Fangs! He's just being friendly,' he mumbled, in the manner of all lacklustre owners. He had no understanding of his dog's capabilities and strength, no hope of controlling it. He would be lucky if he wasn't found one day, savaged to death by his own animal.
We stepped away. The berserk Fangs was now straining to drag his chain free of the big tree to which its other end was fixed. He so much wanted to kill us, he seemed likely to strangle himself. We would have no qualms about letting him. Thwarted, he started hurling himself at the tree.
'Sorry, I forgot he was there. We don't see many people and he gets excitable. Quiet, boy!'
There was no way the dog could be silenced, until the owner lobbed half an old amphora at him. It missed. The weighty crock could well have cracked the canine skull. Fangs seemed to know about this wine-jar trick. Immediately he piped down and slunk to the base of the tree where he just sat, bored and whining.
We all stood in the clearing and went through introductory formalities.
'I am Probus, one of the Claudii,' said the man from the shack. 'I expect you have heard of us.' He folded his arms and stared, not openly hostile yet proud of their notoriety.
'One of the brothers?' asked Petronius, not denying we had been told about these people.
'That I am.'
'Are you the family spokesman?'
'Can be.'
'Do any of the rest live around here?'
'Several'
'Give me some names?' Petro appeared quite patient, though I thought he wanted to kick this swamp slug in the throat. In Rome he would have had the bastard up against a wall; the problem here was lack of walls. Nobody wanted to go near the tree where Fangs was chained. Pushing a suspect hard up against the shack would most likely cause the whole wreck to keel over.
'Names?' Probus gave Petro a slow look, then wiped his nose on where his sleeve would be if he had sleeves. His arm was hairy enough, and muscular. He slouched like a wimp, but I bet he fought dirty. 'Names, eh?' He was medium height, well built in a slovenly way, with his belt drooping to groin level and a small paunch hanging over it. 'Everyone around here knows who we are.'
'I come from Rome,' Petronius told him again in a mild tone. 'SPQR. I'd like to hear some details.'
'I'm very busy,' Probus boasted. 'No time to draw a family tree.'
'And there are a lot of you, I gather.' Petronius still sounded friendly. I was waiting for him to explode. A cloud of midges began to swirl in front of my face and I biffed at them in irritation. 'Did I hear of twenty-siblings?'
'Justus was the eldest – -' Probus counted on his filthy fingers. He had on a silly face, playing clever bastards. I felt my attitude harden. This could be the swine who had tortured a man for remonstrating about a trespass, beat him, cut off his extremities and left him to moulder. The gods only knew what had been done afterwards to the missing wife. That probably happened close to here.
'Go on,' Petro encouraged him, far too politely.
'Justus dropped dead last year – according to you lot, he probably died of a bad conscience. Then two girls, me, Felix – Felix, the happy and fortunate – and a clever little sod too; well we lost him early, naturally… another sister, the twins Virtus and Pius, and Era, then triplets who all died at birth, Providentia, Nobilis – he's the one you people usually blame, every time an apple falls from a tree and the owner squeals, Those Claudii stole it! – -
I had had enough. Probus continued his long list, but his sly, teasing attitude was more than I could take. Every name made me angrier. 'Let's stop messing about!' Petronius snatched at my arm but I shook him off. 'Probus, you know why we have come. A body was found; it was not pretty. Stop lying and admit that Modestus and his wife came here to complain.'
I strode forward. The thug stepped back in mock alarm. 'Oh they came!' he delighted in telling me. His black teeth showed in a gleeful grin. 'And they're not here now – - however many of you cocky Romans barge about looking for them!'
That was all he said, because I socked him. I hit him low and hard, then as he doubled up, I struck again. If I had been alone with him, I would have carried on for half an hour. I felt so much aggression, I startled myself.
'Falco!'
Petro and one of the others dragged me off. 'Don't make me wish I hadn't let you come,' muttered Lucius Petronius, eye to eye with me and speaking low.
I wrenched free and stumbled away from him. Then I left him to deal with it. I walked off stiffly into the forest by myself.
XX
I strode through the woods in a straight line. No point getting lost. When I came upon a path, I poked a stick in the ground, upright, to show me where to turn on my way back. I had no plan. I was not following the precept that sometimes on a bogged-down investigation, striking out blind can lead you to a clue. I was just overwrought.
I had calmed down by the time I came across more marsh-dwellers.
I walked into a similar campsite, just as poor as the last, just as untidy, just as unedifying. It had scenic advantages, however. It looked out on fields, for one thing. They were not bad fields either, my country background told me that, though their boundary fences were in a bad state.
Three horrible hutments, arranged in a rough triangle, formed a kind of shabby hamlet, not one to feature in a tourists' guidebook. What distinguished these from Probus' lair was that each had a couple of beaten-up chairs outside for admiring the view or making it easier to shout abuse at the sky. Each had a washing line. No man who cultivates a reputation as a dangerous long-term pest pegs out his smalls. So a couple of the Claudius women were in view, one slowly hanging up limp garments, another seated in a dispirited pose on the steps of what was probably her home. Her cowed demeanour suggested she was not allowed to use the chairs. On a nearby patch of ground, some tousled children were kicking a bucket about; I counted four though from the racket there could be others.
The girl with the laundry had the thin body of a child of fourteen and the face of someone two or three decades older. Pain lurked in her eyes. It would stay there. She had seen things she would never forget but she was never going to share them. Her drab dress was short, shapeless, frayed, a grey piece of rag that looked older than she was. Nonetheless, she wore a string of crude stone beads and even a bangle that could pass for gold for a pawnbroker who was ninety and shortsighted. Some man who wanted to signify she had a lot to be grateful for had given her those. She should have thrown them back and got free of him.
Surprisingly, the women did not take offence that I had stepped out of the undergrowth. It did not mean they would be helpful.
'The name's Falco. I'm looking for Nobilis.' No surprise at that, it seemed. 'I think I took a wrong turn. You're…?'
'Plotia,' said the one with laundry. 'You want Nobilis?' She nodded to the centre shack. I had the impression it was empty. 'Gone away.'