`Does that surprise you, Falco?'
`I know one of them,' I confessed.
`I am aware of that.'
`I know him well.'
`And?'
And I could not stomach the suggestion that Petro might even be under suspicion. `It's impossible.' Titus was waiting for me to elaborate. `The man I know, my friend Lucius Petronius, is an impeccable character. You saw him at the meeting yesterday; you must have judged his quality. He is the man who has just expelled from Rome a major criminal. Balbinus Pius would never have been brought to justice without him.'
`True. Were it not for that,' Titus said, `he would be under a cloud with the rest, and there would be no question of asking you to assist us. We are assuming that Petronius Longus need not feature in Rubella's concern. However, Petronius must not be made aware of our enquiries until he is formally ruled out, and perhaps not even then.'
`This stinks,' I said. `You want me to spy on the Fourth-'
'Not only them,' Titus broke in. `Your special assignment is to involve any relevant regions of the city. What Rubella has reported about his own cohort may apply elsewhere – his may not even be the worst problem. I want you to take a close look at any cohort you come into contact with.'
That was better. I had already gathered from Petro a feeling that some of the rest were much less choosy in their habits than his own team. But if I was not allowed to tell him what I was doing, it would be difficult to pry this kind of information from him. If I was underhand and he found out later, he would be outraged. Rightly so.
`Sir, this could damage my most valued friendship.'
`I apologise if so. But I believe you are capable of handling it.' Oh thanks! `You were selected as particularly suitable. In fact, we have been awaiting your return from the East.'
I managed a grin. `So that was how you found out where I was!' Nice thought: the great ones wanting me for something else – and Anacrites having to own up that he had probably disposed of me. How happy they must all have been when my boots touched Italy again. `The Fourth Cohort trust me, sir. Because of my friendship with their enquiry captain.'
`Exactly,' Titus insisted. `This is a far better disguise than if Rubella put in a special agent, someone who would inevitably be identified as Rubella's man.'
`Very convenient!' l saw his point; that only made it worse. `And is the graft Rubella suspects a general problem, or does it relate somehow to the Emporium heist?'
`Rubella thinks it may be relevant. The robbery occurred so swiftly after the criminal Balbinus left Rome.'
`Jupiter! It's a mess if he's right.'
`Rubella's a good officer. You will need to take extreme care, Falco.'
`Do you trust Marcus Rubella?' I shot at Titus unexpectedly.
`Rubella is a known commodity.' He accepted my suspicion indulgently. `We trust him as much as we trust you, Falco.'
If that was a joke, it was in bad taste.
`If you will do this -' Titus began to say, but I was so angry with the mission that I cut him short.
`Don't make promises,' I snarled, remembering how his brother Domitian had done me down when I asked for a just reward. `I've had them before. I'll do the job. I'll do it well if I can.' Better me than some idiot from the spy network. `Whatever you think of informers, rewarding me would be a sign of respect for my reliability, which you say you value. Maybe one day you will think about that, but in any case, I have to ask you this, Caesar: if as a result of this distasteful assignment I end up in a back alley with a knife in my ribs, I hope at least you will remember my family.'
Titus Caesar inclined his head in agreement. He was known as a romantic. He must have understood which member of my family I meant. Maybe, since he really was a romantic, he even had some idea of her distress if she ever lost me.
He was famous for his courtesy, so we had to end with further pleasantries. I slid mine in first: `Please convey my regards to your father, sir.'
`Thank you. It must be Helena Justina's birthday soon,' Titus offered in return. He liked to remind me that he knew when Helena's birthday was. One year he had even tried to inveigle himself into the family festivities.
`The day after tomorrow,' I said firmly, as if it was in my every thought.
`Do congratulate her from me.'
I forced my teeth into a show of gratitude.
I had not forgotten her birthday. Nowadays I even knew the date myself. For once I had managed to buy her a rather fine present. I had been trying not to think about that. Added to the various complex tasks that had been laid on me since I returned to Rome, it was one problem too many.
Helena's present had been hidden amongst the Syrian glass that was stolen from my father in the Emporium heist.
XXVII
THE STREETS WERE quieter, and dark. There was a chill in the air at night as autumn made its presence felt. I would have welcomed a cloak, though mainly it was what Titus had said that caused my shivering.
I had to cross the Forum, negotiate the Palatine, and climb the Aventine. I walked steadily, keeping away from doorways and glancing down any alleys that I passed. I stuck to streets I knew. Where there was space for more than one person I went straight up the centre of the road. When I heard anybody who must realise I was there I made sure my tread was confident. If the other person did not appear to have noticed me, I kept quiet.
I had a lot to think about. Domestic events alone were enough to take up all my energy: a pregnant girlfriend who still had to decide how she wanted to react; her family; my family. Then there were the hours of work I needed to put in on the new first-floor apartment; my friend Lenia's wedding, in which I was expected to participate as a convivial priest; and now the baby I had discovered in my skip. Just sorting out the foundling might take a week – a week I didn't have to spare for him.
Somehow, too, I had to find a replacement birthday gift for Helena. I was short of cash (partly because I had spent so much on the now stolen original). There was an obvious solution, but it was one that niggled me: I would have to ask Pa to find me a tasteful antique in his warehouse, one he was prepared to let me buy at cost. For Helena he would probably do it – and for Helena, so would I without quibbling – but the process would be horrible. I felt tense just imagining what I would have to go through in the bargain with Pa.
And now Titus had asked me to break faith with Petronius. I hated this. I was also angry that I was supposed to be on my own with it. The only person who would know anything about my filthy task was the tribune Marcus Rubella, and he was not the type I chose for consoling little chats. But even if I wanted it, seeking him out was impossible. If I tried nipping into the tribune's office to mull over my findings, all sorts of rumours would immediately start.
Luckily I could talk to Helena. Although Titus had forbidden me to tell anyone about this, one exception could not be overruled. Whatever the jokes about keeping wives in ignorance, a Roman expected his domestic partner to bear his children, keep the store-cupboard keys, quarrel with his mother, and, if required, to share his confidence. The fact that Brutus failed to confess to Portia what he was planning on the Ides of March just shows you why Brutus ended up as dead mutton at Philippi.
Helena and I had always shared thoughts. She told me about feelings nobody would imagine – she had. I rarely told her my feelings, because she guessed them anyway. I discussed my work. Openness was our pact. Neither Titus nor Vespasian could interfere with that.
I had plenty of company on the streets that night. A couple of times I noticed groups of dubious characters huddled around the folding doors of lockup shops. Once there were scuffles above me as climbers scaled balconies on their way to upstairs burglaries. A woman called out, offering her services in a voice that reeked of dishonesty; having passed by in silence, I spotted her male accomplice in the next lane, hanging about waiting for her to bring a client for him to beat up and rob. A shadowy figure slipped from the back of a moving delivery cart, carrying a bundle. Slaves escorting a rich man's litter were sporting ripped tunics and black eyes, having been mugged despite their sticks and lanterns.