`Paccius knew Bratta bought the hemlock for her. And she told Bratta she wanted it for her father-in-law.'
`Well, that was correct!' I stopped. `How did Paccius know?'
`When Saffia left Negrinus, Paccius advised on their divorce. He sent Bratta to help with her removals. She knew what kind of work Bratta did. When she asked about buying poison, Bratta reported straight back to Paccius.'
`So did Paccius encourage – or better still, order – Bratta to help acquire the hemlock…?' Honorius and I knew we would find no answer to that red hot question.
Paccius Africanus was tangled up in this business to a degree that I would call unethical – had ethics had any place in his world. If he was party to Bratta's purchase, we could charge him with incitement, or with being an accessory to murder. But I would never prove it.
I was wondering whether Paccius realised Bratta might have killed Spindex. I doubted if Honorius knew. Even Paccius might be in the dark: Bratta may have acted on his own initiative. None of them knew yet that Bratta was wanted by the vigiles. Perhaps a sordid backstreet killing which Paccius had never authorised might yet be used to topple the informers' elaborate schemes. `Bratta has disappeared, Honorius. Do they know where he is?'
`Bratta? Paccius has the rogue as a house guest at his own mansion.' Hmm. I wondered if we could lift Bratta. Not that Petronius Longus, whose remit was the Aventine, would agree to go north of the Forum. He wouldn't want to raid an ex-consul's grand abode either. I would have to extract Bratta myself.
`One last thing – Did they both know about Saffia? Paccius and Silius?' Ashamed of his new compatriots, Honorius nodded. `And did they know from the start?'
`I suppose they may have done.'
At long last I saw it all. If the two informers knew all along who killed Metellus, everything since had been a set-up. They had deliberately failed to prosecute Saffia herself They had toyed with Rubiria Juliana, then worked around to Metellus Negrinus. They manipulated me, hoping I would make a counter-charge – one they always knew could not hold up. They could have stopped the Calpurnia prosecution at any time. They had Bratta as a star witness. With his tale of buying the poison for Saffia, they were all set to run up their compensation claim against Falco and Associates.
As it turned out, being ethical idiots, Falco and Associates had saved them the bother.
I wondered if Paccius and Silius had deliberately planted Honorius amongst us as a spy. For a moment I even wondered if they had primed the steward to spout his story about Saffia's quails now, at a time that suited them. However, I guessed their information all came from Bratta.
Something else struck me. Maybe the two informers' crafty tricks went back much further than I had realised. If they knew about Saffia and the quails, maybe they knew whatever secret Saffia had used to blackmail the Metelli.
Finally, I began to grasp the scale – and the long timescale – of their devious plans. They had lined up the Metelli as victims years ago.
I, too, could take advantage of my opponents' weaknesses. When pushed, I abandoned all scruples. At the Basilica Julia, I left a message for Petronius. I dared not say much; any court official might be in Paccius' pay. But I asked Petro to wait for me outside. That sounded innocuous. Then I set off alone.
At the elegant home of Paccius Africanus, I gave a false name. The suave slaves were not competent enough to remember me. They accepted my fake byline, though they then denied that Bratta was indoors. I sent in word for him anyway. I said Paccius had run into setbacks and wanted Bratta urgently at the court.
Bratta came out eventually. Emerging from a doorway, I followed him. He walked with an informer's gait, confident but unobtrusive. He was checking for observers, but he never spotted me. I grew so jumpy I found myself glancing behind me in case Bratta had brought a shadow, who might now be tailing me… Apparently not. He just walked on, sometimes swapping the side of the street, but not bothering to use double-backs. He was methodical, but must have felt secure.
When he reached the Forum, he seemed to grow more wary. He crossed the historic piazza by way of the narrow, little-used path between the Regia and the back end of the Temple of Divine Julius. From the shadow of the Arch of Augustus, he checked for trouble, hoping he would see it first. He failed to spot a tall, quiet man in brown standing immediately above him on the steps of the Temple of Castor: Petronius Longus. Petro had seen Bratta lurking by the Arch, and he had seen me.
Bratta stepped out on to the Sacred Way. Lifting him would be easy. What would be hard was lifting him without the public noticing.
I moved closer. Petronius remained still. All around us were people at their normal tasks, weaving to and fro across the Forum in intricate patterns. Bratta was too hesitant; a garland-seller bumped into him. He had lost his rhythm; he was knocking against people. He had sensed his mistake. He was nervous. This was too public, and he was starting to doubt that my message had been genuine. But he still had not seen us. I signalled to Petro and we both moved in.
We reached him together. We had surprised him, but he was extremely strong. We took him, after a struggle. He was almost at the Basilica steps by then. He had kicked me in the guts, and he had bitten Petro. There was blood streaming down his tunic, where he had ignored my threatening knife. Petronius had finally subdued him, using vigiles aggression.
Bratta had never called for help. A loner by trade, he may not even have thought of it. As we hustled him away down a sidestreet, nobody saw us go.
`Thanks, Petro. This is Bratta – to be dumped in a very secure cell. Don't bother to tell anyone you have him. Don't tell them, even if they come asking.'
Some of Petro's men appeared. They surrounded our prisoner. Out of sight of passers-by, he must have received some nasty punishment. I heard him grunt. Petronius winced. Then he slapped my shoulder. `I knew it must be something good, if you were not bothering to go to court. Best trot in there now, though.'
`I'll just instruct you first -'
`Don't bother: I'll persuade the brute to admit he strangled Spindex.'
`Easy on the persuasion.'
`Unlike the Second, we keep them breathing; Sergius is a cat with a mouse. He enjoys watching little creatures trying to survive – he can stay playful for a very long time.'
Petro had aimed his remarks at Bratta, but I lowered my voice. `Well, don't just get him on the killing – make him confess who ordered it. If it was Paccius or Silius, tell me before you tell the Urban Praetor.'
Petronius nodded understandingly. Linking the two elite informers to a sleazy murder seemed my only hope of escaping from the mess I was in. `Falco, get into court. You want to be present when the bastards shaft you.'
He was right. I retrieved my toga, which I had earlier left with an usher, and slid into the Basilica just as Paccius was having fun tearing my reputation to pieces. Luckily I never had much.
Apart from Petronius, everyone I knew seemed to be there listening. Well, they would be. People love to see their friends brought down, don't they?
The Accusation against Calpurnia Cara: C. Paccius Africanus on M. Didius Falco
… Consider what type of man he is. What is known of his history? He was in the army. As a young recruit he was sent to the province of Britain. It was the time of the Boudican Rebellion, that savage event in which so many Roman lives were lost. Of the four legions then in Britain, some were subsequently honoured for their bravery and the glory of their victory over the rebels. Was Falco among their number? No. The men in his legion disgraced themselves by not responding to the call from their colleagues for help. They stayed in camp. They did not fight. Others were left to achieve honour, while the Second Augusta, including Didius Falco, abandoned them, earning only disgrace. It is true that Falco was obeying orders; others were culpable – but remember, as a servant of the Senate and People that was his heritage.