'Paestum?'
Now Gordianus sat quiet. After exile on this bleak shore, the mighty complex of temples at Paestum represented sheer luxury. 'Paestum,' I continued seductively. 'A civilized city in a delicate climate, where the violets are the sweetest in Europe, and all the perfumers' roses bloom twice every year…' (Paestum: on the west coast in Campania – well within Vespasian's reach.)
'In what position?' Now he was talking more like a senator.
'I have no authority to confirm that, sir. But during my journey here I did learn they have a vacant post at the great Temple of Hera…'
He nodded at once.
I had done it. Everything was over. I had hooked Curtius Gordianus back from his exile, and with luck earned myself a contract bonus. (Or, being realistic, I would earn it if Vespasian agreed to the solution I had suggested, if we ever managed to agree what that solution was worth to the Empire – and if he paid.)
I stood up, easing my spine. I felt grimy and tired; familiar hazards of my trade. Lack of decent conversation had left my speech sluggish. I became aware of countless scratches stinging my legs from forging through maritime brushwood at the whim of my goat. I was a wreck. I had ten days' ferocious stubble; I must look like a mountain bandit. My hair had coarsened and my eyebrows stiffened with salt.
While I watched Gordianus beginning to gloat at his own good luck, I blotted out the irony of my own predicament. If I did earn this bonus, it would be one small instalment towards the four hundred thousand sesterces that might have helped me approach Helena. Informing is a drab old business. The pay's filthy, the work's wane, and if you ever find a woman you don't have the money, or the time, or the energy… And she leaves you anyway.
I told myself I would feel better once I enjoyed a long and steamy hour, with decent hot water in ample quantities, in the pontiff's private baths. A good bathe when you really need it can get you over almost anything.
Then I remembered that clumsy bastard Milo had broken my favourite oil flask at the Croton mansio.
XX
I was clean at last, well scraped and starting to relax, when the commotion occurred.
As the bath-house was private, several glass and alabaster jars of interesting oils lived permanently on a marble shelf. I dipped in discreetly and had my eye on a particular green flagon of hair pomade for a final therapeutic touch…
As I unwound in the luxurious hot steam room, I felt I had the measure of what had been going on. The Curtius brothers owned a family tree so ancient that Romulus and Remus had carved their names in its moss. To them Vespasian was a nobody. His good generalship meant nothing; nor the forty years of service he had already given Rome. He had no money and no famous ancestors. You cannot let people who own nothing but talent rise into the highest positions. What chance is there then for the upper-crust bunglers and fools?
Longinus and Gordianus, two impressionable boobies with more status than sense, must have been easy prey for stronger men with wickeder ideas. Longinus had paid for it cruelly, and all Gordianus really wanted now was an escape he would be able to explain away to their sons At this point heavy running footsteps interrupted my reverie.
As I rushed out with the slave who had come to fetch me, a stricken figure was being carried from the Temple to the house on a makeshift sling. Milo was arguing fiercely with Gordianus in the porch; when I appeared, all wet curls and wonderful unguents, and wrapped in a skimpy towel, the Chief Priest exclaimed idly, 'Falco was in the bathhouse!'
I said, 'Thanks for the alibi; so what was the crime?'
Gordianus, whose normal greyish pallor had become a sickly white, nodded as the unconscious man was hurried past us indoors; the deputy priest, the one who had been in charge while the pontiff was in mourning. The veil that would have covered his head at the altar was still tangled round him, soaked in crimson.
'Poor fellow was found bleeding from a head wound. He had been felled with a lampstand. Someone had left your goat there in the Temple-'
'If that was an attempt to implicate me, it's clumsy!' I interrupted angrily. 'I never take her inside the Lady's sanctum, as you well know!' A slave had brought me a tunic so I fought my way into it, with some difficulty since I was still wet.
'Falco, the blow was badly aimed; he may live – but if so he will be fortunate-'
'Stop wondering; the blow was meant for you!' I plucked at my clinging tunic as I turned from Gordianus to his steward, who was giving me a cross-eyed scowl. 'Milo, I kept away from the Temple while pilgrims were there. Were you on watch?' The huge oaf looked uncooperative, still remembering how I had brained him at Croton. 'Think, Milo! This is urgent! Has there been anyone who looked less than genuine? Anyone asking questions? Anyone who for any reason sticks in your mind?'
It was stony-hard work, but I extracted details of a visitor who sounded possible. This man had insisted his sacrifice be conducted by Gordianus himself. The staff at the house had turned him away, saying the pontiff would not officiate until today.
'And was he here again this morning?' Milo thought so. 'What makes you sure? Gordianus himself rapped out.
'The horses,' mumbled Milo. I looked up rapidly. 'Horses? Not a skewbald effort and a twitchy-eared roan?'
Grudgingly, Milo agreed.
'Do you know this villain, Falco?' Gordianus cried indignantly, as if he thought I must be in league with the man.
'He followed me down here, at least from Salernum; possibly from Rome -' Our eyes met. We both thought the same.
Barnabas!
I gripped the priest by the elbow and wheeled him indoors where, rightly or wrongly, he might feel more safe.
To me, there could be no doubt that the attacker was long gone, but we sent out Milo and various household minions to scour the countryside. We saw a ship close to shore, which fuelled our suspicion that the attacker may have had accomplices who fetched him off by boat, horses and all.
Gordianus groaned, his head in his hands. He was letting himself imagine how his deputy, anonymously veiled, had been bludgeoned as he stood in prayer with his hands on the main altar…
'I left my family in Rome, Falco – are they safe?'
'From Barnabas? I'm not an oracle, sir. I don't sit in a cave chewing bay leaves; I simply can't put myself in a trance and prophesy his next move -' He bit at his lower lip desperately. 'He murdered your brother,' I reminded him patiently. 'Vespasian insists he answers for it. Now he has tried to attack you; when he learns his mistake he may try again.' He stared at me. 'Sir, this proves what I suspected – somehow your brother Longinus posed a threat. So do you, apparently. Whatever it was your brother knew, he could have sent you a message between meeting the freedman at the priest's house and going to the Temple of Hercules that night; Barnabas must be afraid he did so. If anything does arrive from Longinus, it will be in your interests to tell me-'
'Of course,' he promised, unconvincingly.
Forgetting myself, I grasped his shoulders and shook him. 'Gordianus, the only way to be safe is if I reach Barnabas first! The freedman will be dealt with, but he must be found. Can you tell me anything that may help?'
'Are you chasing him, Falco?'
‘Yes,' I said, because although Anacrites had been assigned this doubtful privilege, I was determined to beat him if I could.
Still shocked by today's graphic proof of his own danger, Gordianus continued to look vague. 'You and Pertinax were on close terms,' I insisted. ‘Do you know his freedman? Was he always so dangerous?'
'Oh, I never dealt with his staff… Does he frighten you?'
'Not much – but I do take him seriously!' I eased my tone. 'Not many freedmen would consider that their duty to their patrons included murder. Why this exaggerated loyalty?'