And I suppose," I said viciously, you and Cassius think that they live in an old shop by the Temple of Hercules Invictus?" That caused a silence. I just had to hope Uncle Fulvius was deliberately riling me. Fulvius complained of swollen ankles. I too had aching legs and feet, plus a pain in my back as I tried to avoid collapsing on my uncle. Suddenly we heard noises above us. Footsteps. We strained our ears to work out who was now in the shrine. It could be a priest, unconnected with our mission. I was hot and increasingly uneasy. None of my own associates knew where I was. Our only back-up was Cassius. Thrills. Faintly audible, someone paced about. I was all set to risk calling up to ask if it was Mutatus, when a new person joined him.
Where is the money?" Caninus, muffled, but recognisable. Not close; probably near the shrine door. Fulvius nudged me excitedly. Mutatus, closer and louder, answered. The money is safe." He must be right beside the floor grille, immediately above our heads.
Where?"
I can get it. Falco was right. We don't believe you have Diocles, but if you really can produce him."
Falco, hah!" There came an abrupt movement. Things went wrong. We heard an angry shout. Caninus, closer, exclaimed, You fool!" Something clanged and skidded, like a weapon falling on the grid. Down in our vault, Fulvius shouted out, but went unheard. Feet; went pounding away from the shrine. Two sets? I thought so.
All you had to do was hand over the money!" Caninus, voice retreating, somewhere outside. A short scream, then more sounds of pain and fear. In the distance the sacrificial bull started bellowing, agitated by the commotion. Someone returned to the shrine, moving slowly. Filled with dread, Fulvius and I kept quiet. There were three awkward footsteps, a thump directly above us, then footsteps running out. The trace of light that had once penetrated the tauroboleum pit through its upper grille had vanished.
I have a bad feeling," I said softly. Fulvius listened. Something is dripping down on us…" Then he added in horror, It feels like blood!" It was not the bull. We could still hear him bellowing… Fulvius and I realised the terrible truth. just above our heads lay Mutatus, either finished already, or now bleeding to death.
LXII
My uncle groaned once and called out to the scribe. There was no answer. We could do nothing to help Mutatus, and I knew it was probably all over. For the scribe's sake, I hoped so. Like Diocles, he must have owned a sword and brought it here, in a crazy act of defiance and bravery. Unbelievable. We seemed to be there for hours. Eventually we heard Cassius arrive. He cursed, then hastened to release us. We fell out through the opened door, gasping, and he dragged us up the steps. Light and air dazzled us. Wiping sweat from my brow, along with who knows what, I stumbled to the body. It was Mutatus of course, and, of course, dead. I pulled him off the grid; he was not some damned cult sacrifice. I straightened him up on the floor of the shrine. His fingers had been shredded where he had tried to fend off blows from his own sword. Caninus had carved him as crudely as a raw recruit. Trust the damned navy not to know how to handle weapons. I knelt down in the pool of blood and closed the old scribe's eyes. Then I shut mine, genuinely grieving. When I stood up, the other two were watching me. Cassius, looking familiar now, must be fifteen years my uncle's junior. He had shed the beggar's rags and wiped off some of the grime, though he still had dirt camouflage stripes blackening his face. What a poser. I had not filthied up my face for an action since I stopped creeping around northern forests as an army scout. With only a bunch of toadstools to hide behind, at least there was some point. Grey-sideburned as he was now, in the straight nose and brown eyes I could still trace the handsome younger man for whom Fulvius had fallen. Biceps strained against the tight sleeves of his tunic, his big calves were muscular, and there was no fat on him. I had seen him before. he was the fourth man from the public latrine where only yesterday Caninus had taunted me about Fulvius. Together, they were as noncommittal as a married couple; they would share a commentary later, in bed, possibly. I preferred not to think about that.
He managed to avoid me," Cassius complained. The action man in the partnership, not doing much to help us. I found a blood trail leaving the sanctuary, but he slipped past me somehow."
Damned amateurs!" I was angry. At my feet lay a scribe who had exceeded his remit in the bravest way. Mutatus should have been pensioned off with honour, not crudely slain, with four or five ragged strokes, because this pair of incompetents could not round up one ageing corrupt attache who had already been wounded. Fulvius and Cassius exchanged glances. I'll go after him," offered Cassius. I pushed him aside. No, go!" But it was no longer necessary. Passus and a group of vigiles rushed into the shrine. They had men out already searching for Caninus, closer on his tracks than we would ever be now. Passus bent and inspected the departing trail of blood spots. I'll get a scent dog in."
You know it's Caninus we're after?"
Brunnus had told us. He's been checking up in Rome. The Ravenna boys are trying to keep it all quiet, but the big epaulettes in the Misenum Fleet overruled them. A full-scale hunt is on, but you know Rubella; he intends the Fourth to get all the glory." At the uproar of the vigiles" arrival, the bull had begun to vocalise again; I found the noise unbearable. The Fourth will have to catch Caninus then."
You know us, Falco!" I could relax. The experts were taking over. Shaken in body and sick at heart, I staggered outside. The evening was beautiful. The selfish gods must be unmoved by our tragedy. I threw up on the steps of the Temple of Attis, to the horror of a priest. Uncle Fulvius calmed down the bull in due course. Well, he was born on a farm. Once it was clear I was no longer needed, I left them all without a word and went home to my wife and family.
LXIII
Next morning, Helena kept the children quiet so I slept in long after everybody else had breakfasted. When she woke me, I was not pretty. A rough attempt last night to wash off the salt, blood, sweat and dirt had failed to produce much improvement. I was rested, but felt shaken and deeply depressed. Helena knew all that had happened. I had unburdened myself to her before I fell asleep. Now she fed me, then told me a messenger had called that morning. Damagoras, still imprisoned by Rubella, was asking to see me. Helena reckoned she knew what he wanted.
While you go out to play at dares with the boys, Marcus, I just sit alone at home, surrounded by old note-tablets. I had been thinking about the tablets, actually. I suspect Damagoras wants his ancient diaries back. Remember you told me that Cratidas and Lygon made some joke about discussing literature?" If she said so, she must be right. Too much had happened recently for me to remember. Maybe Damagoras had asked Cratidas and Lygon to retrieve his notes; when that dreadful slave, Titus, came here and saw Albia, he said that some body had been asking about the tablets."
Albia said Titus was frightened."
Yes, Marcus; he would be scared stiff, if he had been threatened by Cratidas or Lygon." It all seemed long ago. But I still wanted to find Diocles; in fact, with Mutatus" death so much on my mind, I wanted it more than ever. Mutatus had paid a terrible penalty for his lost colleague. I owed it to both not to give up now.
Go and see Damagoras."
I could take the shipping logs back to him."
No!" Helena instructed in her crisp way. You just find out if Damagoras is willing to exchange information for them." She looked at me, with her head on one side. You're very quiet. Don't give in to him."
No chance," I assured her gently. Believe me, fruit, anyone who gets in my way today will find me very tough." Helena produced clean clothes and my oil flask, accepting my filthy condition with no other comment. My daughters, playing down in the courtyard, were less diplomatic; they ran up to greet me, took in my disgusting state, then ran away squealing. Albia turned up her nose too. Nux came with me happily. Nux liked having a master who growled around the house and stank. I went out to the set of baths by the vigiles station house. That was deliberate. The baths were handsome and comfortable, built by the old Emperor Claudius when he first brought the vigiles to guard his new corn warehouses. After I cleaned up and slid into a new tunic, I left the dog sleeping blissfully on the filthy old one. She was loyal, but I saw no reason to subject her to the kind of scenes I knew I would find at the station house. While his men continued to search through Ostia and Portus for Caninus, Marcus Rubella would be interviewing prisoners. I knew his methods. Since he got results, nobody ever argued. But for him, interviews" were never an intellectual exercise. On leaving the baths, I crossed the street and entered the dark gatehouse. To me in my current dismal mood, these crumbling barracks reeked of misery. I could hear no Cilicians or Illyrians screaming, but the subdued manner of the vigiles in the exercise yard told its own story. Marcus Rubella was a master of pain management. the excruciating mixture of torture and delay. I met Fusculus. He told me the prisoners were still reluctant to speak, but Rubella was slowly putting together a case. The vigiles had tracked down Arion, the man who was wounded with the oar during the ferry heist; with my evidence that I saw Cotys take him aboard the liburnian, this was enough to tie Cotys and the Illyrians to stealing the ransom chest. Rhodope's testimony damned them for abducting her. Against Cratidas, Lygon and the Cilicians, evidence was more circumstantial.