`That's significant.' Lucky too; the father could as easily have arranged a ransom with the banker in the Forum, and we would have missed this. `It's a useful detail. How was little Tiberius returned?'
`The father went out with the banker, and came home carrying the child. The household were informed that someone had found him by accident. Afterwards they were discouraged from gossiping. That was all I could learn.'
`It's enough. Was the child old enough to talk about what happened?'
`He looked a dim little overfed soul. I suppose he can talk, but we'd never be allowed to get at him, especially now. There's a close guard kept, and the escort soon became twitchy about me conversing with the nurse. I was lucky to find out what I did – and lucky Gaius Baebius had the sense to keep out of the way.'
`The great pudding.'
`He means well, Marcus. He's terribly concerned about Tertulla, and very angry that her own father has never put in an appearance to look for her.'
`This must be the first time one of my brothers-in-law despises another even more than I do! All right, so Gaius Baebius can't choose a wife or a watchdog, but he has a heart of gold. Anyone who'll beat his head against a wall trying to complain about Lollius deserves a laurel wreath. Is he coming to help you tomorrow? Are you intending to tackle the fifth house again?'
`Gaius is scheduled for shift work at Ostia. Yes, I'll try the last family a second time.'
`Not on your own.'
`I wasn't intending that. These are the snooty ones. This time I'm taking Mother's litter and a train of Father's slaves. I'll experiment with announcing myself more formally as a woman of respectable background.'
Helena had spoken seriously, intent on her task. Trusting her good sense and flair, I could afford to be frivolous. `Try wearing your Greek crown!'
She chortled. Then Helena justina set about thanking me for her antique treasure from Damascus in a way that cleared my mind of most of its troubles, and eventually let me find peace and sleep.
If we needed confirmation that a kidnap gang was active, it came first thing next day. We were still at breakfast. Light footsteps scuffed the stairs outside, then, while I was wondering whether to grab a bread-roll knife in case the Miller and Little Icarus had returned, young Justinus bowled in.
We relaxed.
`Quintus! Greetings, you bibulous rascal!'
`Falco, there's been a terrible mistake!'
`Drinking with my father always is. Cool off. Your purse is deep enough; you'll get over it.'
He looked sheepish. `I think I've endured enough reproaches.'
`I bet.'
`There's been a misunderstanding, one that concerns you.'
`What's new?'
`No, listen,' he burst out excitedly. `We owe you an apology.'
`I'm all ears, Quintus.'
Then he told us that while we had been dining at the Camillus house last night a strange messenger had called. He brought a note, which the Senator's secretary took in and read. Since there was a family party in progress, the secretary dealt with it himself. The note asked for money for the return of the child; the child's name was unfamiliar to the scribe. He angrily sent the messenger away, and only when the strange story was mentioned this morning had Camillus Verus realised the truth. Luckily we had been talking about Tertulla during our visit.
`Jupiter! At least we can tell Galla she's probably alive. But what a cheek! Helena Justina, someone has been trying to put pressure on your father to ransom my niece!' As if our relationship did not entail enough embarrassments.
Needless to say, no clues had been retained. The ransom note had been thrust back at the seedy messenger; there was no useful description of the man; and nobody had watched to see which way he went after he was turned out of the house. Maybe the kidnappers would try again. Maybe they would have the sense to approach Helena Justina or me. Maybe they would lose patience, and just hand Tertulla back.
Maybe.
XLVI
AT THE THIRTEENTH-SECTOR patrol house moods were as dour as mine. It had been a quiet night on the Aventine. A normal one, anyway. Apart from eighteen house fires, arson in a grain warehouse, a rash of burglaries, several street fights related to the festival of the Armilustrium, three suicides dragged from the Tiber, and two more angry women whose nicely airing counterpanes had been stolen from balcony parapets, nothing had disturbed the peace.
I told Petro what we had discovered about the kidnaps, and he told me what I could do with my news.
`Don't fob me off. Tertulla is an official case, Petro. Galla demands an enquiry.'
`She's on our daily list.'
`Damn the list. This needs a vigorous follow-up.'
`Give me a name or a suspect house and I'll send in men.'
`It's someone with good information. It's someone who knows enough to connect my ghastly sister's snotty truant with the fact that my girlfriend comes from a family with status.' Not enough information, however, to realise that the illustrious Camilli had no spare cash.
They could have heard it at any barber's or breadshop.'
Are you sure? Someone out on the streets knows more than Helena's father's secretary does. He sent the runner away!'
`I presume you've made sure next time he'll put a leg ring on the messenger and pass him to us.'
`She's a seven-year-old girl. She ought to be a priority.'
`My priority is set by Rubella. My priority is eliminating the gangs.'
His scowl told me different. Petro had fathered girls himself. He knew all the doubts and dreads when a female child went missing.
He quietened down, told me Helena had done splendidly over questioning the other families, and remarked that I didn't deserve her. With her help, and now the attempt to involve her father, at least we knew what was going on.
`That's no consolation to my sister, and you know it!'
Petro promised that as soon as he had time he would look into it. As things were, he would never have time. We both knew that.
There had been no more raids and no more murders. That was a relief yet it meant we had no more to go on. Petronius and the squad were back with the dire, depressing task of flogging once more through old evidence. Worrying at empty details. Trying to tease an extra ounce of significance from useless facts.
`Where's the black boy?' Petro demanded suddenly. `The Nonnius slave?'
`With Porcius.'
`Then where's Porcius?'
Porcius was summoned from fending off counterpane victims. He came into the interrogation room nervously. He must have known Petro was the calmest man on the Aventine, but he could sense short temper tingling in the air like the night before a blinding storm.
`I thought I told you to make friends with the squealer's attendant?'
`Yes, chief. I'm doing it.'
`Well?'
`He's very timid, chief.'
`I don't care if he wets himself every half-hour. Mop him dry and keep up the pressure. I want to know what he saw.' `He talks a lot of gibberish, chief.'
`We can find a translator if he lacks Latin – ' `It's not his Latin – '
`Don't nit-pick. Porcius, this is Rome. We can find a trustworthy translator for any language in the world.'
`Chief, he's just terrified.' Like himself, Porcius could have said.
`So he's no use? I don't accept it. Surely if he was hiding right under the couch where we found him he could have glimpsed a few feet. Did he hear anything said? Can he not suggest bow many abductors came to the house? Were they talking any foreign languages?'