The Dorian dirge subsided. Laeta had made an almost imperceptible gesture, so the singer left. Going voluntarily saved him having me drag him outside and bind him by his tasselled wristbands to a fast-moving cart.
'I'm glad you dropped by, Falco.' Always a bad start.
Laeta then told me that Anacrites was back from whatever mission the Emperor had let him loose to ruin. Instead of waiting for more orders, the Chief Spy had taken it upon himself to follow up the Modestus case. 'I have informed Marcus Rubella he can drop the investigation,' said Laeta, barely looking up from his deskful of documents.
'That stinks!'
'It's a done deal, Falco.'
'You think Anacrites is fit for this?' I demanded.
'Of course not.' At this point, Laeta did look up and meet my eyes. His were clear, cynical and unlikely to be swayed by protests. 'Think yourself lucky, Falco. Tell your vigiles friend too. This case may go very mouldy before it's over. If the spy thinks he wants the job, that's typical of his misjudgement – - but let him go ahead and bungle it. We can all watch Anacrites get nasty black squid ink down one of those barley-coloured tunics he insists on wearing.'
Laeta always wore white. Classic. Expensive and aristocratic. By implication incorruptible – though I had always assumed he was very corrupt indeed.
I dropped my voice. 'What's going on, Laeta?'
He laid down his pen and leaned his chin on his hands. 'Nothing, Falco.'
I folded my arms. 'I can spot official lying. You can tell me the truth. I have the Emperor's confidence. I thought you and I worked from the same order sheet.'
'I am sure we do.' Claudius Laeta gave me the look some bureaucrats use. It made no denial of a cover-up and seemed to assume I knew everything he did. I felt I could see distaste for whatever game Anacrites was playing.
'I thought this was a confidential enquiry. How did Anacrites even find out about it?'
'Your crony Petronius put in a claim for a replacement ox and cart. An auditor strolled up the corridor and mentioned it to the spy.'
'Oh no! I wonder what that was worth? I do see the Treasury will quibble – - but the adjudicators are perfectly capable of turning down expenses without bringing in Anacrites. It's nothing to do with him.'
Laeta for once allowed himself to be rude about another officiaclass="underline" 'You know how he works. He spends most of his time spying on his colleagues rather than enemies of the state.'
'Shall I challenge him on this?' I asked.
'I advise against.'
'Why?'
Laeta's eyes were keen and oddly sympathetic. 'Take a steer from a friend. Anacrites is always dangerous. If he really feels he wants this work, stand back.'
'That's not my style.'
Laeta leaned back with the palms of his hands on the edge of his table. 'I know it's not, Falco. That's why I am taking the trouble, out of respect for your qualities, to say, just let this one go.'
I thanked him for his concern, though I did not understand it. Then I left his office wondering what exactly the Chief Spy could find fascinating in a bunch of belligerent marshfrogs killing a neighbour in a feud about a boundary fence.
My style was, as Laeta may have realised, to march straight up the corridor to Anacrites' office, intending to ask him.
Once again he was absent.
Two of his men were there this time, eating folded flatbreads. I had seen them before. I reckoned they were brothers, and for no logical reason I had placed them as Melitans. Anacrites had had these idiots watching my house last December. I was looking after a state prisoner temporarily and, in his own tiresome style, he tried muscling in. Just like this, really. If he thought I was being noticed by the Palace, he could never leave me alone.
The legmen had taken over his room as if this was their base, where they were allowed to eat their supper before they were sent out on their next assignment. One was actually sitting in the seat Anacrites normally used. Even spies have to eat. That included the unfortunates Anacrites employed. Any over-familiarity was his problem.
When I looked in, the pair straightened up slightly; they rearranged their foreign-looking features so they seemed helpful, though neither bothered to ask what I wanted. They made vague attempts to hide their vegetable turnovers until they saw I didn't give a damn.
'He's out?'
They nodded. One raised his bread two inches as an affirmative. I didn't ask where he had gone, so they did not need to tell me. They knew who I was. I wondered whether they guessed why I wanted to talk to Anacrites.
He was obsessively secretive, too close to make a good commander. His men probably had no idea what he was up to. That was the problem with him: half the time he didn't know what he was doing himself.
XXIV
For some reason, when I left the Palace, the night seemed full of threats and unhappiness. Rome had its seamy side. I seemed more aware of it tonight. I noticed caterwauling and unhappy cries, both near and distant; there seemed to be a bad smell everywhere, as if while I was in the Palace some major disaster with the drains had occurred. Darkness insinuated lower areas, creating pools of menace where there ought to be streets. Monuments that stood amidst a few lights looked cold and forbidding instead of familiar.
Back at my house, however, there was peace. The children were in bed, perhaps even asleep. Albia was in her room, plotting against Aelianus. The lamplight was mellow, there was food and drink on a side table, a sleepy Nux thumped her tail at my appearance then went straight back to snoring in her happy doggy dreams.
I sat sideways on a reading-couch with a cup of wine in one fist, not even drinking yet. Helena curled up beside me. She was sweet-scented from the baths and now wearing an old, comfortable red gown, no jewellery, with her hair loose. She put a light rug over her bare feet for comfort, wriggling her toes. I looked for signs that her grief for the baby was diminishing; she allowed my scrutiny, though with pinched lips as though she would flare up if I asked the wrong question. But then she took my hand; she was judging my progress back to normality just as I assessed hers. I too concealed my feelings, as I rubbed my thumb over the silver ring on her third finger.
Once we both relaxed, I told her about being pushed to and fro at the Palace. Sharing news was our habit, always had been. I passed on what Laeta and Momus had said, while Helena at first listened. When I ran out of details and sipped my wine slowly, she spoke up.
'Anacrites has commandeered the job because he is jealous, perennially jealous of you – and of your friendship with Petronius. He thinks you have a better life than him. He is afraid you may jostle him aside and gain favours from the Emperor. He wants what you have.'
'I don't see it.' I put down the winecup; Helena reached over and sipped thoughtfully, before replacing the cup. I half smiled but kept talking. 'Sweetheart, he has status; from what I hear, he has money too. Jupiter knows how he got there, but he's top man in intelligence. Even that time he took out of action with his head wound never seemed to affect his position. He has a secure career, salaried and pensioned, very close to Vespasian and Titus – whereas I'm a luckless freelance.'
'He envies your freedom,' Helena disagreed. 'It may be why he tries to sabotage your cases. He realises your talent, hates how you can choose to accept or refuse work. Most of all, Marcus, he longs for you to be his friend. He loved working with you on the Census – -' He drove me mad on it. 'But he's like an angry young brother, jumping up and down to get your attention.' She had two younger brothers. 'He has done this before to you and Petro. So, treat him like a tiresome brother; just ignore it.'