"He's a gem," I reassured my partner. "And more importantly, his word will carry weight with Vespasian."
"Let's do it then."
One thing to be said for Anacrites was that since his head wound had made him erratic he could take a decision to spend large sums of our so far unearned money without turning a hair. Of course tomorrow the same erratic behavior would make him change his mind-but by then I would have sent off a banker's order to Justinus and it would be too late.
"Alternatively," Anacrites suggested (always alert to a chance of thwarting some private plan of mine), "I could go out to Oea myself."
"Good idea." I liked to disappoint him when he was playing me up. "Of course it's December so it won't be easy getting there. You'll have to take short hop sailings-Ostia-Puteoli, Puteoli-Buxentum-Rhegium, Rhegium-Sicily just to start. You should get a lift out from Syracusa to the island of Melita quite readily, but it could become tricky after that-"
"All right, Falco."
"No, no; it's good of you to volunteer."
We left it in the air, though I was planning to write to Justinus anyway.
We talked about what to do next. The documents on Calliopus could now be set aside until we finalized the issues of the mistress's house and the overseas property. We needed to move on to another victim, either Saturninus or one of the other lanistae. I was sorry that this meant we ought to leave Calliopus' training barracks with the Leonidas question unanswered. But we had no choice. The Census was supposed to be over within twelve months of its inception. In theory we could drag out the disputes for years if we chose to, but Vespasian was in a hurry for the state revenue-and we were hungry for our fees.
I mentioned that I would be dining with Saturninus. I said I would try to gauge whether he looked a likely prospect for auditing. Anacrites seemed quite happy for me to fraternize. If it was useful he could share in the credit; if it went wrong he could denounce me to Vespasian for corrupt practices. Nice to have a partner I could trust.
"It's acceptable," I joked, "so long as I don't enjoy myself."
"Watch out for poison in the food," he warned in a friendly voice, as if he were thinking of supplying some best quality aconite to my host. It was the poison in our partnership that was bothering me.
I was feeling low. I seemed to have caught a chill during my exploits at the Agrippan Baths yesterday.
Restless, I mooched out onto the balcony that ran around this part of the barracks. Nux gave a last growl at Anacrites and came to sit on my feet. While I stood there attempting to clear my raw throat, I noticed Buxus come out from the building opposite where the animals were kept, carrying one of the ostriches. I had seen him do it before. It was the easiest way to transport them: tucking them under one arm, gripping their wings with his elbow, while dodging their long necks and prying beaks.
This one was different. The big bird had lost all its curiosity. Its legs dangled limply, its wings hung quite still, and its bare neck was down so its tiny head dangled almost in the dust. I knew at once that it was dead.
I called down: "What's up with him, Buxus?"
The keeper, always tenderhearted, appeared to be sniveling. "Something disagreed with him."
Nux noticed the corpse and leapt down the stairs to investigate. I called her back; she stopped and turned to look at me, puzzled that I was spoiling her fun. I went after her, down to the yard.
Some of the bestiarii had been exercising with weights; they came up to see what was going on. We all gazed at the dead bird. I recognized it as the largest male, and one that had been nearly eight feet high, once resplendent in black and white feathers but now reduced to a selection of fan dancer's costumery. "Poor thing," I said. "The birds are a damned nuisance if they can get at you and bite your tunic to shreds, but it's sad to see one dead. Are you sure he hasn't been off color? Maybe the Roman winter disagrees with ostriches."
"He was fine an hour ago," moaned Buxus. He laid his burden on the hard ground of the exercise yard, then squatted on his haunches with his head in his hands. I gripped Nux by the collar as she struggled to get at the bird and worry it. "Who's going to be next?" moaned the keeper, in great distress. "This is all getting too much-"
The bestiarii glanced at each other. Some shuffled away, not wanting to be involved. Some patted Buxus on the shoulder firmly, as if to shut him up. Gripping Nux under my arm, I went down on one knee to examine the ostrich. It had definitely stopped breathing, but I'm no ornithologist. It was just a lump of limp poultry to me.
"What happened exactly?" I asked quietly.
Buxus had taken the hint from the others. Now his reply was neutral, just like when he was putting off my interest in Leonidas. "He stood still, then sort of folded up. He lay down in a heap and put his head on the ground, as if he had gone off to sleep."
Someone had come up behind me; I glanced round and saw Calliopus. He must have just arrived for the day. Still in his outdoor cloak, he pushed past me, lifted the bird's head, dropped it, and swore. Buxus kept his own head down, looking cowed.
"That bastard!" Calliopus must be referring to Saturninus. Furious, apparently he did not care what I overheard. He strode inside the menagerie. Buxus then leapt up and followed him. The bestiarii hung back, but I was hard on the keeper's heels.
"It's the grain, I think," I heard Buxus mutter in an undertone. "The new load. That's where I found him foraging. Before I could shoo the silly brat away, it was too late. The sack split when they delivered it-"
Calliopus brushed him off, rampaging past the cages and on into the second area. Borago the bear growled at the commotion, so did the new lion Draco who was now in the cage where his predecessor died. He prowled about, but seemed quieter, no doubt calmed by a few choice cuts of Leonidas.
The second room with the sea lion's pit was empty now that Draco had been moved out. Even the eagle was gone from his perch. Beyond it again lay a short corridor which led to a store. There stood a modest grain bin-with a wooden cover on it-and on the ground in front of that lay a hempen sack. It had burst open at one seam, spilling corn onto the ground. Calliopus took a cursory look round, then seized a scoop. He caught up a good panful of the grain from the broken sack, then shoved out past us again. Buxus and I trotted after him like children playing hide-and-seek. In the yard, Calliopus spread the grain in a patch on the ground. He whistled. "Watch the pigeons!" he commanded. Without a word more to Buxus he marched off to his office. I might as well have been invisible.
Buxus looked up to the roof, where one or two scrawny pigeons were always making a nuisance of themselves. He went and squatted in the shade of the building, waiting to see if any of the flying vermin would come down and commit suicide. Still carrying Nux to keep her out of harm's way, I walked up to him.
"When was that sack delivered?" I assumed it was recently. This place was well run. The spilled grain would normally have been cleared up fairly soon after the accident happened.
"This morning," Buxus consented to tell me in a mournful voice.
I had seen a cart unloading when I walked in. "Half an hour ago?" He nodded. "So there wasn't much chance it was tampered with here? And where is it supplied from?"
He looked furtive. "I don't know about that. You'll have to ask the boss."
"But you have a regular arrangement?" Buxus still looked guarded, but he said yes. "And how often do they make a delivery?"
"Once a week."
Crouching on his haunches, he put his head down on his arms. It was either a good imitation of a very depressed man, or a strong hint for me to move along.