'Just for routine,' Petronius asked me levelly, 'where is your knife at present?'
I produced it from my boot. I tried not to feel harassed. He examined it, carefully looking for blood. Of course he found none. We both knew that proved nothing; if I had killed someone I would have cleaned my weapon scrupulously after the event. Even if the occasion had been legitimate, that was my normal good housekeeping routine.
After a time he returned it, then warned me, 'You're liable to be stopped and searched on sight. I presume I can trust you not to carry an offensive blade inside the city boundary?' Going armed in Rome is illegal, a neat trick which means that the law-abiding have to walk down dark alleys undefended, just waiting to have their throats cut by wicked types who ignore the rules. I said nothing. Petro went on insultingly, 'And Falco, don't take your ugly hide beyond the city boundary-or any temporary amnesty is cancelled at your first step.'
'Oh that's rich!' I was highly annoyed with him. He could become extremely irritating when he exerted his official role.
'No, it's fair!' he retorted. 'It's not my fault if you start throwing punches at an off-duty legionary who next minute gets himself sliced up. Think yourself lucky I'm not measuring you for manacles. I'm freeing your reins, Falco, but I want a return. I need to know what this business with your brother was, and you stand more chance of discovering the details than anyone, including me.' That was probably right. And I was going to start digging in any case; I was now irresistibly curious about the statues scam.
'Petro, if the body is all we have to go on, I'd like to take a look at it. Is the carcass still at Flora's?'
Petronius looked prim. 'The body's off limits. And keep away from Flora's, if you don't mind.'
There were moments in this conversation when our old friendship started coming under too much strain. 'Oh cobnuts! Holding a public post goes to your head sometimes. Stop treating me like a tired husband whose nagging wife has just been found laid out lifeless on a public compost heap.'
'Then you stop giving me orders as if the whole bloody Aventine was yours under private lease!'
'Try being a mite less officious!'
'Just try growing up, Falco!'
Petronius rose to his feet. The lamp guttered nervously. I refused to make an apology; so did he. It didn't matter. Our friendship was too close to be blown apart by this condescending exchange of personal views.
At least I hoped it was. Because without his help, my witless implication in the murder of Censorinus could have fatal results for me.
He was stomping off in a huff, but turned back from the doorway.
'Sorry about your sister, by the way.'
With so much else on my mind, I had forgotten about Victorina. I had to think hard to realise what he was saying.
I opened my mouth to remark that he must be more sorry than I was, then stopped. I did pity her children, left to the mercy of their feeble father the plasterer. Besides, I had never been quite sure about relations between Victorina and Petronius. But one thing was certain: when women were involved, Lucius Petronius Longus had never been as shy as he appeared.
XI
After he left I sat where I was. I had a lot to think about. It was the proverbial case with no easy solutions. In fact, as was normal for me, no solutions at all.
Helena Justina came to see what I was doing (or how much I was drinking). Perhaps she had heard me quarrelling with Petronius. Anyway, she must have guessed there was a problem and that the problem might be serious. At first she tried to pull me gently by the arm, attempting to lure me to bed, but when I resisted she gave way abruptly and sat down alongside.
I went on thinking, though not for long. Helena knew how to handle me. She said nothing. For several moments she simply stayed with me, holding my right hand between both of hers. Her stillness and silence were comforting. As normal, I was completely disarmed. I had been intending to keep the situation from her, but pretty soon I heard myself saying despondently, 'You had better know. I'm a suspect in a murder case.'
'Thank you for telling me,' Helena remarked politely.
Immediately my mother popped out from somewhere near at hand. She has always been shameless about listening in.
'You'll need something to keep your strength up then!' exclaimed Ma, banging a patera of broth on to the embers of her cooking bench.
Neither of them seemed the least surprised-or at all indignant-that I had been subjected to such a charge.
So much for loyalty.
XII
Next day the weather continued to be abysmal, and so did my own mood. I was faced with far more than investigating my shady brother's past for family reasons, a hard enough task. But if I was to escape a murder charge, within the next day or so I had to find out why Censorinus had died and name the real murderer. Otherwise the best I could hope for was exile to the ends of the Empire, and if I came up before a judge who hated informers-as most of them did-there might even be the threat of crucifixion beside a highway like any common criminal or being turned into bait for an arena lion.
Only my own family seemed likely to offer any clues as to what Festus and his army pals had been about. Forcing my relatives to sit still and answer questions like witnesses was a dire prospect. I tried my sister Maia first. Maia was my favourite, but as soon as I spread myself out on a couch she upset me by commenting, 'I'm the last person you should be asking. Festus and I never got on.'
She was the youngest surviving child in our family, and in my opinion had the best looks and character. We had barely a year between us, while a gap three times as long divided me from our next sister, Junia. Maia and I had stuck together ever since we shared a nursery beaker and took turns learning to stagger about in a little walking-frame on wheels. In most ways she was easygoing. We rarely squabbled, either when we were children or later on.
Most women on the Aventine look like hags from the moment they have their first baby; Maia, with four behind her, still appeared younger than her thirty years. She had dark, extremely curly hair, wonderful eyes, and a round, cheerful face. She had picked up a good dress sense when she worked for a tailor, and had kept up her standards even after she married Famia, a sozzled horse vet with a bulbous nose and minimal character. Famia was attached to the Green faction, so sporting discernment was not his gift; his brains seemed to have run out once he latched on to my sister. Luckily she had enough apples in the basket for both of them.
'Give me some help, Maia. The last time Festus came home on leave, did he say anything to you about being in partnership with some people from his unit importing art from the East?'
'No. Marcus, Festus would never have talked about anything important in front of me. Festus was like you were in those days. He thought women were just for being rammed from behind while they were bent over a cooking bench preparing dinner for him.'
'That's disgusting.' I felt upset.
'That's men!' she retorted.
One reason Maia disapproved of Festus was the effect he had had on me. He had undeniably brought out my own worst side, and she had hated having to watch it. 'Maia, don't do him down. Festus had a sunny nature and a golden heart-'
'You mean he always wanted his own way.' Maia remained implacable. She was normally a treasure to deal with. On the rare occasions when she took against someone she enjoyed letting rip. Excess was our family's strong point. 'There's one obvious person you ought to talk to, Marcus.'
'You mean Geminus?' Geminus, our father. Maia and I shared views on the subject of Father. They were not complimentary.
'Actually,' she scoffed, 'I was thinking of ways you could avoid trouble, not walk right into it! Marina, I meant.' Marina had been my brother's girlfriend. For various highly emotional reasons I did not want to go and see Marina either.