Venus in copper

'If you asked him, he'd say nothing.'

People often talk in riddles when they commission an informer. Very few clients seem capable of asking straight out, What are your rates for proving that my wife sleeps with my driver?

'So why has he sent you?' I asked the runabout patiently.

'His relations have sent me,' Hyacinthus corrected me. 'Hortensius Novus has no idea I'm here.'

That convinced me the case involved denaru, so I waved Hyacinthus to my bench: a hint of cash worth being secretive about always perks me up.

'Thanks, Falco; you're a regular general!' Hyacinthus assumed my invitation to sit included my winejar too; to my annoyance he dodged back indoors and found a beaker for himself. As he made himself at home under my rose pergola he demanded, 'This your idea of a gracious setting for interviewing clients?'

'My clients are easily impressed.'

'It stinks! Or is this just one of the drop-ins you keep around Rome?'

'Something like that.'

'It was the only address we had.' It was the only address I had. He tried the wine, then spluttered. 'Parnassus!'

'Gift from a grateful client,' Not grateful enough.

I poured myself a refill, as an excuse to shift the winejar out of his reach. He was having a good squint at me. My informality made him doubtful. The world is full of straight-haired fools who think curly-tops who grin at them cannot possibly be good businessmen.

'This place has all I need,' I said, implying that to exist in such squalor I must be tougher than I looked. 'The people I want to meet know where to find me-while the ones I may be avoiding are put off by the stairs… All right Hyacinthus, I don't issue a prospectus of my services, but here's what I can offer: I do information-gathering of a mainly domestic type-'

'Divorce?' he translated, with a grin.

'Correct! Also investigating prospective sons-in-law on behalf of sensitive fathers, or advising recent legatees whether their bequests involve any hidden debt. I do leg-work for lawyers who need more evidence-with a court appearance if required. I have contacts in auctioneering and I specialise in recovery of precious artworks after theft. I don't tackle draftdodgers or debt collection. And I never fix gladiatorial fights.'

'Squeamish?'

'Better sense.'

'We shall want to take up references.'

'So will I! All my business is legitimate.'

'How much do you charge, Falco?'

'Depends on the complexity of the case. A solving fee, plus a daily expense rate. And I give no guarantees, other than a promise to do my best.'

'What is it you do for the Palace?' Hyacinthus threw in suddenly.

'I don't work for the Palace now.' It sounded like official secrecy: a pleasing effect. 'Is that why you're here?'

'My people felt a Palace man came ready recommended.'

'Their mistake! If they hire me I'll do a decent job, and be discreet. So, Hyacinthus, are we in business?'

'I have to invite you to the house. You'll be told about the case there.'

I had intended to go anyway. I like to inspect the people who will be paying me. 'So where am I heading?'

'The Via Lata sector. On the Pincian.'

I whistled. 'Highly desirable! Are Hortensius and his relations people of rank?'

'Freedmen.'

Ex-slaves! That was new for me. But it made a change from vindictive officials and the hypocrisies I had run up against with some of the senatorial class.

'You object?' Hyacinthus enquired curiously.

'Why should I, if their money's good?'

'Oh… no reason,' said the slave.

He finished his drink and waited for another, but I had no intention of offering. 'We're on the Via Flaminia side, Falco. Anyone in the district will point out the house.'

'If Hortensius is to know nothing about this, when shall I come?'

'Daytime. He's a businessman. He leaves home after breakfast usually.'

'What's his business?' My question was a routine one, but the way Hyacinthus shrugged and ignored it seemed oddly evasive. 'So who do I ask for?'

'Sabina Pollia-or if she's unavailable, there's another called Hortensia Atilia-but it's Pollia who is taking the initiative.'

'Wife?'

He gave me a sly grin. 'Novus is unmarried.'

'Don't tell me any more! So the females of his household are hiring me to frighten off a gold-digger?' Hyacinthus looked impressed. 'When a bachelor has a houseful of formidable women- and don't tell me Hortensius Novus hasn't,' I growled, 'because you're here behind his back on their behalf-why does he always decide that the solution to his troubles lies in marrying another one?'

'Now tell me you don't do gold-diggers!' the runabout retaliated.

'All the time!' I assured him glumly. 'Gold-diggers are wonderful women: the bedrock of my trade!'

As he left he said, 'If you ever do think of leasing a more respectable apartment-'

'I could be in the market.' I followed him as far as the balcony door.

'Try Cossus,' Hyacinthus offered helpfully. 'He's a letting agent in the Vicus Longus- a dozy pomegranate, but reliable. He has plenty of decent property for men of affairs.

Mention my name and he'll be sure to look after you-'

'Thanks. I may do that.' I deduced that Hyacinthus thought his suggestion earned him a tip. I keep a half-aureus sewn in the hem of my tunic, but there was no way I would part with that for a slave. All I could find was a thin copper as which no self-respecting latrinekeeper would accept as an entrance fee.

'Thanks, Falco. That should swell my freedom fund!'

'Sorry. I've been out of touch with my banker!' I tried to make my spell in the Lautumiae sound like a secret mission in Lower Parthia, so he could go home with a good report for my prospective clients.

Chapter V

The freedman Hortensius Novus lived in the north of the city, on the scented slopes of the Pincian Hill. His house stood surrounded by a perfectly plain wall of sufficient height to prevent people peeping over the top, had any of his well-heeled neighbours lived near enough. None of them did. It was an area where the grounds of the private villas were even more spacious than the public gardens which were graciously allowed to fill the lesser spaces in between. If I say that one of those was the Garden of Lucullus, which the Empress Messalina had prized so highly she executed its owner when he declined to sell, this gives a fair idea of the scale of the private mansions on Pincian Hill.

I talked myself through the Hortensius gatehouse, then hiked along the hillside on their broad gravel drive. There was plenty of landscape to occupy me. Luckily I had stopped at a sweetmeat stall and made some enquiries, so I was to some extent prepared for the opulence of the freedman's estate. His box trees clipped like winged griffons, his pale statues of broad-browed goddesses, his intricate pergolas swagged with roses and vines, his massive alabaster urns with blush-pink veining, his dovecotes, his fishpools, his marble seats in intimate arbours with views across neatly scythed lawns, were a treat.

I was admitted past the bronze sphinxes guarding the white marble entrance steps into a formal entrance hall with heavy black pillars. There I tapped my boot gently on a white and grey geometric mosaic until a tired servant appeared. He took my name then led me through the delicate ferns and fountains to an elegant inner court where one of the three Hortensius freedmen had recently installed a new statue of himself, in his best toga, looking important and holding a scroll. This was, I decided, what my landing needed at the Falco residence: me in Carrara marble, like a plush prig with lots of money who felt satisfied with his world. I made a note to order one- some day.

I ended up in a reception room, alone. Throughout the house I had glimpsed burnt-out tapers and torches. A faint whiff of stale garlands hung round the corridors, and from time to time when a door opened I caught the sound of last night's dishes clattering. A message came from Sabina Pollia asking me to wait. I guessed that the lady was not yet up and dressed. I decided to reject the case if she turned out to be a rich party-giving slut.