Minnius might be dead, but if so he wasn't here. And if he wasn't here, in the absence of other evidence I might as well hope he was alive.
So where would he go? Thinking back to my previous conversations with him, it was possible he had told me the answer himself: '… in those days I mas still selling pistachio nuts off a tray in the Emporium…'
I turned the donkey down the hill, and set off across Rome.
It took me an hour to find him, but I managed eventually. So it was an hour well spent.
The Emporium sits on the city side of the Tiber bank, under the shadow of the Aventine. It is the main exchange in Italy for produce imported by sea, quite simply the greatest, most fascinating commodity market in the Empire-the hub of world trade. You can buy anything there, from Phoenician glass to Gallic venison; Indian rubies; British leather; Arabian peppercorns; Chinese silk; papyrus, fish pickle, porphyry, olives, amber, ingots of tin and copper or bales of honey-coloured wool; and from Italy itself all the building bricks, roof tiles, ceramic dinner services, oil, fruit and wine you could ever want-provided you are prepared to buy it in wholesale quantities. No point asking the man politely if he will pick you out just one nice nutmeg; it must be twenty caskfulls, or you'd better be on your way before he reinforces his raucous sarcasm with the sole of his boot. There are stalls outside for timewasters who only want something tasty for the family lunch.
I had known the cavernous interior of the Emporium building, the wharves where the Tiber wherries jostled in queues before they landed, and the unloading bays for the creaking wagons that rumbled overland from Ostia, since I was knee-high to a Macedonian. I knew more people in the Emporium than my brother-in-law Gaius Baebius did, and he worked there (mind you, unless he landed you with the calamity of his marrying your sister, who would want to know Gaius Baebius?) I even knew that although the place appeared to be stuffed with produce, there were good days at the Emporium; but when the right ships had just landed there could be even better ones. Mind you, the normal rules of human life applied here as welclass="underline" if you dropped in for that special rose-tinted marble your architect had recommended to face your reconditioned atrium, the odds were that the very last sheets in stock would have gone out yesterday to some baker who was building himself an atrocious mausoleum, and as to when another consignment could be expected, legate-it would depend on the quarry, and the shipper, and the winds, and frankly, who could say} Odds on, you would buy yourself a Syrian perfume jar to save being altogether disappointed by the trip-then drop it on the doorstep when you reached home.
Leave that aside. My trip was a success.
The main building was the usual throng of porters and patter. Pushing my way round this noisy bazaar was not the wisest occupation for a recent invalid. But I did find him. He had gone down from a stall but was still one up from his old tray; he was now selling from a stone-faced counter, though he told me he had to take his wares to be cooked first at a public bakery.
'So why did Felix chuck you out?'
'Novus was the sweet tooth in that house,' Minnius mentioned warily.
'Oh I know that! I'm working on a theory that his sweet tooth was what finished Novus-' I stopped short. Best to avoid too much stress on the possibility that Minnius sold cakes that caused poisonings-even if it was somebody else who put the poison into them. 'So how are you managing?'
'Oh it's home from home. I should have come back years ago. I kept telling myself I ought not to leave there because I had built up a good passing trade, but you just as soon create your regulars in a place like this.'
'You like the bustle. On Pincian Hill even the fleas are snobs.' Minnius served a porter with a giant-sized slab of tipsy cake. 'So-three questions, my friend, and then I'll leave you to get on!' He nodded. People like to know there will be set limits to the invasion of their time. 'One: tell me about the batch of confectionery you sent up the hill the night Hortensius Novus died. Were there any special instructions, or was the choice left to you?'
His face set slightly. My guess was, somebody had warned him to keep his mouth shut, but he decided to tell me anyway. 'The original request was for seven luxury pastries. The runabout ambled down the day before and placed the order-a mixture, my choice; but on the afternoon somebody came by and picked another out.'
'Much bigger than the ones you sent,' I said quietly. 'It was to go in the centre of the platter for effect. It would have caused an effect all right!' I commented, leaving Minnius to work out why. 'Question number two, therefore: who picked the extra cake, Minnius?'
I had money on two of them, mentally. I would have lost. Minnius, with his eyes steady, answered, 'Hortensia Atilia.'
The meek one! That was an unexpected treat. I thought about it. 'Thanks.'
'And your third question?' he nagged. Behind me a queue was waiting to be served.
I grinned at him. 'The third is; how much to buy two of your raisin-stuffed pastry doves, for me and my special lady?'
'How special?'
'Very.'
'Better do you a special price.' He wrapped two of the biggest in vine leaves, and gave them to me for nothing.
I put the cakes in my hat, which I carried. Then I set off for home and the special lady who was waiting for me there.
I left the donkey in the hiring stables since I expected to be indoors some while; there was no need to deprive him of shade, hay and companionship. Besides, I hate paying standing time.
The stables were just around the corner from where we lived. From this corner, you could see the entire block. I was like a lad with his first sweetheart, staring round in wonder at everything. I looked up, which you normally never do at your own house since you are thinking about wherever you have just come from, and trying to find your latch-lifter.
The sun was above me, hitting my left eye. I started to squint, looking away from the apartment. Then I had to look back.
Something produced an odd effect. I shaded my eyes. The building seemed to shimmer for a second, though not with light. I was about fifty yards away. The street was busy; no one else noticed anything at first.
The entire frontage of my apartment block crumpled, quite quickly, like a human face dissolving into tears. The building swayed, then visibly hung in the air. All the natural forces which keep a structure upright had lost their effect; for an instant every component was suspended in space individually. Something maintained the shape of the building-then nothing did. The block neatly folded, with a strangely compact motion, falling in upon itself.
Then the noise overwhelmed the street.
Immediately afterwards we were swamped by a great cloud of masonry dust which enveloped everyone in its stinging, suffocating filth.
Chapter LVII
First the incredible silence. Then people start to scream.
You have to clear the dust from your eyes first. Shaking yourself makes it worse. You cannot move until you can see. Your senses are righting to catch up with what is happening.