At this point I reached forward and gave myself more wine. Anacrites remained silent, savouring his, so I let myself paint in some colouring I thought he might not know: 'The Senator's safe-looking daughter was a mistake; four years into their marriage she smacked Pertinax with an unexpected notice of divorce.'
'Ah!' smiled Anacrites in his silky way. It was part of his mystique as a spy to know more about other people than they knew about themselves. Even so, I knew more than he did about the ex-wife of Atius Pertinax.
One thing I knew was that a fortnight ago she seduced a citizen called Falco – much against his better judgement, though not at all against his will.
I drained off my glass. Staring at it, I went on. 'I met Pertinax, once.'
'In your work? What was he like?
'Describing him politely is more than I can manage without another drink!' This time we both squeezed the sweet amber from its silver samovar. Anacrites, who liked to appear civilized, took warm water in his. I watched him dip his wrist gracefully to regulate the drips front a jewelled jug, then swirl the liquors to mix them in his glass. I had my water the way I like it, in a separate cup.
I enjoyed my wine for a moment, ignoring the water, then said of Pertinax: 'Vicious. A real thresher shark! By the time I blundered into him he was an aedile -' Junior law enforcement officer, in support of a district magistrate. 'Pertinax had me arrested on a pretext and badly beaten up, then his friendly subordinates wrecked my apartment and tore my furniture apart.'
'Did you make a complaint?'
'Against a senator?' I scoffed. 'And see the magistrate turn out to be his uncle, who would dump me in prison for contempt?'
‘So the aedile used his baton on you, and now in return,' Anacrites suggested, glancing round, 'you're rifling through his honour's Macedonian curios!'
'Rough justice,' I smiled, handling the spiralled white stem of my wineglass delicately.
‘Apt!' I could see speculation working in his pale eyes. 'So, you met Pertinax.' I guessed what was coming. 'Rumour has it you are no stranger to his wife?'
‘I've done work for her. Hasty temper and high principles – not your type!' I insulted him calmly.
'Is she yours?'
'Hardly! She's a senator's daughter. I pee in the gutter, scratch my backside in public, and have been known to lick my plate.'
'Ha! She never remarried. I reckon this divorce of theirs may have been some kind of blind-'
'Nix!' I snorted. 'Pertinax was arrested because his ex-wife reported him'
Anacrites looked sore. 'No one saw fit to warn me of that. I was all set to march in and interrogate the woman-'
'Best of luck!' I said drily.
‘Why expose him? Vindictiveness?
A fair question; yet my hackles rose. 'Politics. Her family supports Vespasian. She never realized that if Pertinax was clapped in prison his cronies would muffle him before he could be interrogated-'
The spy winced; he knew how his enforcement colleagues extracted information in the quiet privacy of a jail cell. 'So, Pertinax Marcellus – Hail and Farewell!' cried Anacrites with mock reverence.
Personally, I'd rather find my way across the Styx with no passport at all, than be handed into Hades with the blessing of the Emperor's Chief Spy.
It was time for Anacrites to report to the Emperor. Momus was asleep, his dirty toes turned out.
Anacrites looked at me from that smooth, cynical face; I decided I could work with him – so long as I always kept one hop ahead.
'You're assessing me for Vespasian,' I suggested, 'while Momus-'
'Puts in a nightly report on us both!' Anacrites breathed with clerkish contempt. His light eyebrows lifted scornfully. 'So, Marcus Didius Falco, where does that place you?'
'Just settling old scores with Pertinax!'
Anacrites could not bring himself to trust me; sensible lad. Nor, needless to say, did I trust him.
Tonight when he got up to leave I unravelled my crumpled toga and tagged along. We went out very quietly, leaving Momus behind, fast asleep.
VII
A warm May night in Rome. We paused on the doorstep, and sniffed the air. A faint spattering of tiny stars hung above the twin peaks of the Capitol. An aroma of hot forcemeat sausage made me suddenly ravenous. Music sounded in the far distance, while the night was alive with the laughter of men who had nothing to regret.
Anacrites and I set off down the Vicus Longus briskly, to deter unwelcome night trade. We passed the Forum on our right and entered the Palatine complex via the Clivus Victoriae. Above us the official suites looked cheerfully lit, though if the Emperor or his sons had been entertaining, their banquets had already broken up; our painful new dynasty kept its state in respectable style.
At the Cryptoporticus, Nero's grand galleried entrance, the Praetorians let us through with a nod. We went up. The first people we encountered, and the last I wanted- to see, were the Senator Camillus Verus and his daughter Helena.
I swallowed, with one cheek tightening; Anacrites smiled understandingly (rot him!) and made a swift exit.
The Senator had a fluffed-up, formal, newly laundered look. I winked at his daughter affectionately, even in front of him; she gave me a faint, rather troubled smile. Strong looks and a strong character: a girl you could take anywhere – so long as the people who lived there did not mind being told frankly what was wrong with their lives. Helena was austerely swathed in grey, her feet kicking at the heavy, flounced bent of a woman who had been married, her dark head topped by a pointed plain gold diadem. The scroll which Camillus was carrying said they had been here to petition the Emperor, and I could guess their plea: Camillus Verus was a stalwart supporter of Vespasian; he had had a brother who had not been. The brother conspired against the new Flavian dynasty; was exposed, killed, and left to lie where he felt. I had been wondering how long it would take for the Senator to decide his brother's soul was his responsibility. Now I knew: eleven days. He had come to ask Vespasian for the warehouse corpse.
'That's Falco!' I heard Helena say, chivvying her father. 'He'll find out for us-'
The Senator's wife was a supportive woman but I could see why it was his daughter he brought today. Beneath her quiet public front Helena-Justina always meant bunion. Luckily she was still preoccupied after their mission in the throne room and barely reacted to meeting me. Her father planned their present; he said to me the Emperor was being difficult (not surprisingly); then Helena waded in, wanting me to investigate.
'That rather cuts, saves me working for the Palace-'
'When did that stop you? Camillus himself assaulted me cheerfully; I grinned, but let their proffered commission drop.
'Sir, if your brother has been bundled into oblivion by a gang of off-duty Praetorian will it really make you feel better if you know?' Helena fell ominously silent. It boded ill for somebody; I guessed who. I tried not to remember the sordid details of her uncle’s end, in case she read my face.
I gestured in the direction Macias had taken, implying urgent business elsewhere. Camillus asked me to remain with Helena while he organized their transport. He rushed away.
We two stood there, in one of those Palace corridors that was so wide it was almost a room in itself, while occasional officials passed to and fro. I had no intention of ending our tender relationship beneath the tawdry glitter of a Neronian reception hall, so I looked tough and said nothing.
'You know!' Helena accused levelly, while she was still watching her father out of earshot.
'If I do, I'm not allowed to say.'
She glanced at me with a look that would wither the spines on a porcupine.
While the subject died quietly between us I enjoyed myself surveying her. The cumbersome folds of her matronly stole only emphasized the warm curves they were meant to disguise, and which I had found myself possessing so unexpectedly two weeks before. Her presence tonight had enveloped me with the familiar same that we both knew each other better than we would ever know anyone else (and yet neither of us had discovered the half of it…).